Thursday 26 May 2005
8:23 a.m.

Dad said to Mom the other day, “We’ve had almost 50 pretty good years together” and Mom replied “I wish we had 50 more.”

We are now trying our damnedest to keep Mom asleep. When she woke up twice yesterday, obviously distressed, that decision was basically made for us. No more hoping to have her awake to share a few last lucid moments. We’d managed to keep her from falling asleep on Tuesday morning long enough for Joan to get there so we could all together sing Happy Birthday to her, by Mom’s bed. Then Mom said “Sing your songs for Cameron” and although he practically begged us not to, we three ugly sisters did as Mom asked, with an a capella version of Cheek to Cheek. There were tears all around but we assume the singing made Mom happy, and that’s what matters.

Dad thought last night might be Mom’s last, so he wanted us all to go over for a while. I took Emil in to say goodbye to his grandma, and Gord took Everett in. Mom’s pulse is still strong though, and her breathing is deep yet; however, she hasn’t eaten in several days, or had more to drink than a glass of water. She wanted to get out of bed one morning but we talked her out of it, thinking she was too weak and the move would exhaust her even more. It was hard to say no to her though, I’ll tell you.

I’m going over in a little while, and will be asking Dad if I can stay. He and Reta are taking excellent and loving care of Mom, but it still is a 24-hour-a-day job, especially since someone has to wake up every two hours at night and give her meds. I could set an alarm and do that. The other thing is that, even though we never could explain it, my presence has been a comfort to Mom for the past year when she was anxious and in pain. Maybe it still could be, even if I am only there and it doesn’t seem as if she is aware of it. I’d rather be there, just in case it helps her in some unseen way. It certainly helps me when I can do something for her, even if it’s only a careful foot rub or a hand on her cheek.