tuesday afternoon i was in the little kitchenette at the office. it was after lunch and there was a pile of dirty dishes in the sink.

on top of the pile was a lonely, odd dish.

t'was quite bizarre. never saw the odd dish in the office before. and when i looked for it afterwards, it was gone.

she says hello to me often in strange ways.

maura and i are jealous because she came to buzzy in a dream.

valentine's day is over. magee came over and we talked about how hard the day had been.

for me, it was not as bad as i had anticipated. i was floored the previous night when i opened my mailbox and found a valentine with a dog on it. mom always sent me a valentine with a dog. aunt jane had sent me a valentine with a boston terrier. and i cried because i missed mummy and i cried because i felt so lucky that i get to share her best friend.

the actual day, at work, i was insanely busy. i didn’t give it much thought until i got an e-mail from magee saying that she had been crying all day. and then an e-mail from buzzy about how much he loved us and how he had seen mummy in a dream.

so i sent them the quicktime movie of missy smiling (as soon as her mummy comes into her view) that i peek at every once in a while to carry me through the rough spots.

later that night, magee and i talked about all of the things about which we feel guilty.

she feels guilty that she didn’t spend every minute of every day in the sunroom with mom. i feel guilty that i did not write her a letter every day when i was in california for that one week in december. magee feels guilty that she was gone when mom had taken her turn for the worse. i feel guilty that i wasn’t there for the week that mom was doing great.

there are a million things that we are second guessing.

but when magee tells me what is eating at her, i can easily see that she has no reason to feel bad…and vice versa.

the times that i have had a “valentine” on valentine’s day have been largely disappointing (that is another story for another blog) but i found a remedy several years ago when I decided that I would forget about focusing on whether or not i was part of a couple and focus on celebrating love.

so i celebrated mummy on many a valentine's day. i made a poster for her one year. one year I made her a mixed tape.

some of the songs on her mixed tape are the same songs i included in the party favor i made for her funeral celebration.

and when those feelings of guilt start to creep up on me, i listen to “ain’t no mountain high enough.” and it makes me feel good. because i know that the words are true. that there was no mountain high enough and no valley low enough to keep us from her when she needed us.

when she needed us, we were there. both magee and i had friends who shared their regrets with us about things they would have done differently when they were faced with losing their mothers. those very intimate gifts made us wise enough to make her our first priority, no matter what the consequences.

it will take us a while to make up for the lost time at work and the lost sleep and the lost attention to anything other than her.

but, when i start to beat myself up for my human failings, i remember the way that she looked at us when we dropped everything and ran to her side. and i feel so good about that.

she was loved immeasurably and, with the exception of our teenage years, she always knew it.

and somewhere in the song there are four words that mean so much to me, "MY LOVE IS ALIVE. way down in my heart. although we are miles apart."

her body is dead but her love is as alive today as it was when she was physically in front of us, smiling at us with her eyes. that carries me. she still carries me.

i have taken all of the e-mails that i sent when mummy was sick and strung them together in this blog form in hopes that our story and the things that i have learned might help someone else.

and i while i was doing it, i noticed something surprising.

i work really hard. i spend a great deal of my life at work. but work only came up in my e-mails on a few occasions.

and those were only mentions of how mom loved liz, or how i cried at my desk, or how i kept it together until liz came around the reception desk and gave me a hug when i came back to the office after that first month away.

and work is grueling. but they were amazing to me in october. and they were incredibly supportive when i went back east to care for mummy in november and december and for maura and missy in january.

but when i look over my life as i recorded it over the past few months...work was so incredibly unimportant.

i knew this...but i didn't understand it as well as i do now.

which is not to say that i don't value my job.

because when i look back through the e-mails i sent, and listen to my saved voicemails, i find how much my work has meant to me over the years in the names of the people who i call my best friends.

lisa, who talked me down when i learned that the cancer was in mummy's brain, and who (with her beautiful daughter, molly and son eric) gave me respite from the battle on more than one occasion, was an AE on nissan when I was an assistant print producer at chiat/day in los angeles.


cat — who left me messages of love and helped me with everything from dealing with the fear, to managing the estate paperwork, to finding the baby monitor — was an art buyer with me at chiat/day in los angeles.

vanesa, who promised mom many years ago that she would "spring her" if we ever put her in a nursing home (and who, along with her beautiful daughter carmen, left "smoochies" on my voicemail), worked with me at chiat in l.a. , was my roommate when i was at chiat in new york, and worked with me again at chiat in san francisco.
pen, who sent me e-mails of support and sent mummy a picture of his two gorgeous daughters with a sign with mummy's name inside a giant heart, was an account supervisor on nissan when i was at chiat in los angeles.

carisa, who shared so much of her own stories with me about the loss of her mother, and who constantly reminded me to live in the moment when mummy was still here, and who ran the san francisco marathon while holding my mom in her heart, worked with me at chiat in los angeles and then again in san francisco.

gabrielle, who wrote me cards and letters of support and wrote even more cards and letters directly to my mother, worked with me at chiat in los angeles.


i look around my closest circle of friends and so many of them, like victoria and darcy and analisa (and, by extension, quinci) are people who i met through work.

so, while i didn't find my work important enough to mention in my e-mails over the past few months, my work has given me incredible gifts in the people it has brought into my life.

work is pretty rough right now. it was not fun today...but i do have so much hope for the future. and whether that comes to fruition or not, i know that i have already added some of the people that i currently work with to the list of people that i will hold in my heart forever.

joni selflessly took on a lot of extra weight so i could make mummy my first priority. i will never forget that.

and when i came back after mummy died, i told liz that i had been disappointed that i was unable to get a gospel choir for mom's funeral. she was surprised to hear that mummy loved gospel music. she shared with me the name of a song that had helped her through when she lost her own mom.

when i came in the next morning and listened to my messages, i discovered that she had played the whole song into my voicemail sometime the night before.

so work is what i do. and in the grand scheme of things it is both nothing and everything.

What the *%@^?

Today was okay. I distracted myself with things that are meaningless.

My life continues to be a roller coaster.

Only one thing has changed. The fog has lifted.

And it is shocking. I feel exposed.

Because, from the moment we got the call in October until she was gone and then buried, it was surreal. I don't know how to describe it except to say that I felt like I was walking through Jello.

And, what never occurred to me then is alarmingly clear now. I had only scratched the surface when I pictured the consequences of her illness.

My mind was clear until we got that call and then it was mush. It was mush for three months. And now that it is clear again I find myself walking in circles. And i keep asking myself the same thing, "What the f**k just happened?!"

She is gone.

Because as clear as it might have seemed when were going through it...it just wasn't clear. We were in the moment. And every moment was spent trying to make her feel better in some way.

And as much as I thought I knew what was coming, I had no idea.

So I never wrapped my head around "forever." And now it is in my face. Every moment of every day.

It is shocking to me.

Because in early September I went back and saw her and we went to Cheeseburger Cheeseburger and ate burgers and shared a basket with half fries and half onion rings. And we quizzed each other with the Trivial Pursuit cards in the middle of the table.

And then in mid September, when i called her from Cocoa Beach, she couldn't talk because she had laryngitis.

And the at the end of September she found out that her vocal chords were paralyzed by lung cancer.

And then the next three months were mush. And now she is dead.

This grief is stretching my brain and I am beginning to catch glimpses of the magnitude of this. And it is bigger than anything I have ever imagined.

It is so big, it only comes to me in tiny, scary flashes. I can't wrap my head around this.

I need to take baby steps.

So I am just trying to remember how it felt those times I climbed into the bed with her and curled up behind her and felt her hand on mine. And I am trying to etch them in my brain.

Because I will never look into her eyes again. I am only beginning to really understand how huge this is.

Seriously. What the f**k just happened?

I need more time.

the end. and the beginning.

so much has happened since i last wrote.

we went to the hospital and maura had her baby, missy. margaret kathryn (missy) was born at 1:46 that day. 9lbs 11oz 21-1/2."

maura had asked me to come into the operating room with her for her c-section.

i dressed up in scrubs and sat in a stool next to her and held her hand while they went in for missy.

it was pretty incredible. missy came out screaming.

what a miraculous day. to be able to help my mom leave the world in the morning and help my niece into the world in the afternoon, was an incredible gift. i am so thankful for that gift.

as soon as maura heard the baby scream, she burst into tears. i kept telling her "she's here. she's here." and she understood that i was talking about mummy. i told her that mom had to leave that morning, because she wouldn't have been able to see our new girl if she were still trapped inside her failing body.

i really felt her there with us.

i made it through the birth and part of the closing up before i had to leave the room and faint.

maura had them put the all-access bracelet on me so i could see missy at any time, so i went into the nursery while they were checking her out and cleaning her up.

i was standing there, stroking her leg, when i heard "how sweet it is to be loved by you" on the nurses' radio. that was the song i was singing to mummy the night before.

we kept getting signs.

when the nurses switched shifts at night, one of them came into maura's room and wrote their names on the dry erase board. they were "margaret and mary-anne" (my mother and her sister's names)

missy looks just like maura. she is perfect. sometimes i call her "formerly" because she was originally going to be named "celia" after me and sometimes she just squeaks...and i call her "mouse."

we brought missy home on friday. mom's "viewing" at the funeral home was friday night.

they asked us for an "outfit" and we put her in a flannel nightgown with a black watch plaid and fuzzy pink socks with pig faces on the ankles. we told them not to "tart her up" because she rarely and barely wore make up. they asked us to send a picture of her hairstyle and we laughed out loud. we said "get it wet and let it dry...that's her hairstyle." they did a really good job.

we decided on a closed casket . we left it open for the family and then closed it when the rest of the viewing started because mom's appearance has changed drastically since october.

we stuck treats in, under her pillow before we closed her up.

they gave us two rooms and they were packed. people were spilling out into the hallway. missy and i stood by one of the doorways and greeted people as they came in.

my mother believes that a funeral is a celebration of a life. she does not like us to wear black. we wore bright colors, and when people started to get a little quiet, i walked our baby by to brighten things up.

the next morning, buzzy came down with the boys and they got all dressed up in their suits and we went to the church. all i had with me was a black suit, so i wrapped myself up in a beautiful multicolored silk scarf that my mom got in italy a million years ago.

my mother has a thing about strange socks (hence the piggy socks) and we each picked a pair of her socks to wear. mine said "pig heaven" and had pigs with halos. magee's had hippos and maura's had pigs. we wore boots, so they weren’t as apparent as the ones that buzzy and the boys wore with their suits. buzzy’s were halloween socks, seamus had christmas trees and liam's had cars. she would have loved it.



the funeral was lovely. perhaps a little too calm for my tastes. i tried to get a gospel choir...that would have made it perfect, but instead, one of our grade school classmates, a tenor, sang for us.

the only moment that almost brought me to my knees was afterwards. we were outside the church and the pall bearers were carrying her to the hearse. and the sight of my mother being carried by six young men who loved her dearly was so sweet to me that it still makes me cry when i picture it.

buzzy carried her along with our biological cousin's timmy, philip and eddy and two of our three soulmate cousins johnny and lea.

when we got to the cemetery, her brother ned joined them to carry her to the grave.

we have a pretty healthy attitude towards life and death. it is rooted in our catholicism and it has been shaped by my mother's own feelings about it. the cemetery is a comfortable place for me. we used to do our under-age drinking there when i was a catholic schoolgirl. i took a grave digger to my senior prom.

the grave side service was lovely. they had chairs set up for us, but we had her brother and sisters sit in them instead, along with aunt jane and elly and miss maura.

we handed out "party favors" at the church. they were little booklets and cds with her songs. she would have loved them.

it was hard to leave. but we did.

aunt mary-anne had a lovely reception at her house and then we went to aunt jane's for dinner.

it was a beautiful day.

when i got to aunt jane's, everyone was in the back yard playing a strange version of touch football. (we call it "carty ball" because every time the carty boys start to lose, they change the rules) when johnny's wife said something about it, they teased her and said "don't be so linear." the carty boys have been amazing constants in our lives.

aunt jane has fed us almost every night since mom died. we've had no fewer than 14 people at the table each time. it has been bittersweet since mom used to always be sitting across from me. but it was much more sweet than bitter. (except when aunt jane discovered that the boys had hollowed out her angel food cake when she went to slice it for dessert.)

when we sat down to dinner, aunt jane leaned over and whispered to me that she had told lea that day that she was supposed to go before mom. and lea said that aunt missy needed her here to take care of us and that while it was so hard to lose aunt missy, it was so good to have three new sisters.

our day, yesterday, was spectacular.

my mother would have loved it.

and i won't say that i wish she had been there, because it felt like she was. at one point, during the funeral, i pulled her wrap tightly around my shoulders and for a brief second, i felt her hands rubbing my shoulders as if she were standing right behind me.

now we go on. and i think this is going to be the hard part. 2006 really sucked. i wish i could be more articulate about it...but i can't find a better word than that. but i think my need to write about everything is passing, so i will move on quietly.

i want to thank you for taking this journey with me. your thoughts and prayers and e-mails really carried me. they meant the world to me and to my mother.

i know she thanks you, too, for taking such good care of me.

she knew us better than we know ourselves and each other. she knew that i am not as strong as i pretend to be and that magee is stronger than anyone gives her credit for. she knew that all buzzy needed was an open door and unconditional love. she knew that maura's baby was a brilliant gift and that maura would be a remarkable mummy. and she fought with tooth and nail to see that baby. and she made it to missy's birthday.

we are all so different and so similar. we are all missy's children.

she was not perfect. she was delicious and mischievous and stubborn. she was ours. and we will always be hers.

and now we wait…

christmas eve 7:00pm

she had a good day today. it was much better than some of the days we had last week. last week, when people wanted to come by, i had to say no. she was uncomfortable and delirious.

at one point, earlier this week, elly came and gave her communion and cried on her way out. mom's rapid decline has been shocking for all of us. we are so lucky to have her friends, like angels, taking care of us.

elly, with her communion, and her constant friendship, aunt mary anne, aunt jane...we are well taken care of as we all take care of mummy.

aunt mary anne and aunt jane came by the day after elly left and helped us get mom to sign the medical power of attorney so we could begin hospice care.

the hospice nurse came yesterday and made us all feel better.

just like when mummy was in the hospital in october, the days are all starting to blur together.

in the mornings, i write on a dry erase board that i prop up near her bed, "today is saturday, december 24th - christmas eve - relax. you have no appointments today.- Oh Happy Day! aunt jane and aunt mary anne and timmy are going to visit today. - eat and drink. you will feel better. - only 2 days until we have our new baby girl." i write it as much for myself as i do for her.

today aunt jane and lea and jody came by first. mom was as alert as she can be and she really enjoyed the visit. then timmy came by with pictures drawn by caroline, jude and tara, she loved that. philip came later with his children. (unfortunately, i slept through that.) and later aunt mary anne and sheila came and sat with her for a little while.

she had a good day today. she even came into the family room for a little while and sat with magee, maura and me.

mom and i are in her room now. she is in a half-awake half asleep state. we're listening to her ipod playlist. i keep pressing "repeat" when "better together" comes around.

i am googling things from the mayo clinic and the american cancer society. i just want to know how to make her feel comfortable. there was one really good page that helped by explaining what I am seeing. the splotchiness on her skin - not a good sign, the fact that her arms and legs are still warm - good sign.

christmas eve 9:00pm

when magee came home, she came in and sat with us. she is so good with mom. she got her to take her morphine and atavan. we sat her up and i climbed in bed behind her and rubbed her back while magee sat in front of her and held her hand. neither of us could keep the tears from streaming down our faces.

it's gotten to the point where i want it to stop. she coughs and coughs and coughs and she is so uncomfortable. she is in so much pain. i don't want her to leave us. i want her back. i want her to run her fingers through my hair and tell me that everything is going to be alright. i want to hear her laughter. and when she is suffering, i want her to die.

christmas day 5:00pm

magee rang me on the intercom phone at around 7 this morning, she was on mom duty again last night. she needed help giving mom some more morphine. i came down and we gave her the meds that she could handle and changed her into some fresh clothes.

we called the 24 hour hospice line. now that she can no longer swallow the oxycontin pills, is it okay to take her off cold turkey and substitute with morphine? they said "yes" and said they'd send a nurse over today.

it looks really bad today. we called the listed number for the church to ask for someone to come and give her last rites. it went to a fax machine. magee drove up to church to see if she could make the arrangements.

it must have looked funny to the people all dressed up in their christmas best, to see magee in her sweats making her way through the crowds.

magee came home and we made a good breakfast. (it would have been better if i had been paying attention and not poured tons of oregano into the scrambled eggs.)

monsignor hart came over after 10:00 mass. he gave mom her last rites and gave her communion. it was very sweet and very sad. mummy is a very faithful person. she received absolution for her sins. i know this meant a lot to her. and i know that she knew what was going on, because she made the sign of the cross every time she was supposed to. it was very special. magee and maura and i were there with her.

we had a visit from aunt jane and lea and jody. by this time, i was exhausted so i was sleeping on a mat in the corner. mummy is quite popular and has many admirers. they all are people that she admires, so she lights up when she has moments of recognition.

it's all a blur, but magee and i had several moments just sitting in silence holding her hands or rubbing her feet or both. we switched the christmas tunes to mummy's playlist. i couldn't stifle my sobs when "better together" started, but then i managed to pull myself together. magee got up to do some things in the kitchen and i sat with mom and sang along to our songs.

the hospice nurse, edwina, showed up. "edwin" is my grandfather's name. she took care of us as much as she took care of mummy. on christmas day, she sat with us for hours, explained medications, explained what we were seeing when we looked at mom, explained ways we could move her more easily and keep her more comfortable. she gave us her full, undivided attention. and she checked mom's blood pressure and heart rate and temperature.

by the time she was ready to leave, my aunt mary anne and her oldest daughter, margie, had arrived. they thought it was great that our nurse (our christmas angel) was named edwina.

margie is a nurse as well. she gave us some more helpful instructions and by the time margie and aunt mary anne had left, mom's coughing had subsided and she was sleeping comfortably.

she is sleeping comfortably now.

magee is with her while i take a nap and then we will switch. maura is so caught up in the loss that she can't stay in the room with mom for very long without losing it. i think she's in denial. she asked me this morning if mom had a "rough night." and i said that it was not particularly rough, she was just getting worse.

christmas night

i had a good nap and magee and i are set up to sleep here on the floor so we don't have to leave mummy alone. our very pregnant maura is sleeping on the pull out loveseat in the next room with the monitor next to her bed.

mom's breathing has become so labored. i find myself begging god to come take her away.

i think it is part of a divine plan. a few months ago i was begging him not to take her and tonight, i would like nothing more.


tuesday, december 26th

mummy died at 5:00 this morning.

magee and i had been up with her all night, taking turns medicating her and holding her hand and wiping her brow. her breathing became so labored, we upped her morphine dose and called the hospice nurse.

while magee was on the phone with the nurse, i kissed mummy on the forehead and whispered to her "let go. it's okay. gogo is waiting for you." and over and over again i told her, "you can go now. we'll be okay."

carol, the nurse, came by around 4:30. i laid down on the floor while she did her thing. the spot that magee and i had taken in the corner gave me the same view through the bedrails that i had at the hospital when this all started. i watched her breathe.

then her breathing changed and carol said i should get up. so magee held one hand and i held the other and carol ran and got maura out of the bathroom. and when mummy took her last breath, we were all holding on tight.

we called buzzy and he came right down. we gave him some time before we called anyone else.

the house is full now. the men from the funeral home just came and took her away. and we are still here, surrounded by people that loved her and that love us. she loved them madly.

i took a shower for the first time in a few days. i don't have to worry about leaving her anymore.

i need to get myself together. we leave in an hour to take maura to the hospital. mummy's first granddaughter will be born today.

she will be called "missy."

everyone poops

caring for someone who is dying is a gift. and i keep reminding myself of that. it is an incredibly sweet experience...but it's still so hard.

if i wrote my memoirs today, the title would have to be "everyone poops."

between mom and the two dogs i am constantly getting up to let beastley out, or to help mom on and off of the chamber pot, or to let fang out. maura will be adding a newborn baby to the mix in six days and then my life will be complete.

i will say no more about that, in case you have come across this e-mail while you are eating your lunch.

i am tired. exhausted. on top of the physical toll it takes to be hyper-alert to mom's movements at all times, we are all having breakdowns. secretly, silently, in rooms far away from mom's

we decided to stop chemo. i told mom on wednesday that we were going to stop so her mouth can heal. she wants to keep trying. she still does not understand that her cancer is terminal. she has been told about her condition and her prognosis. they even put it in writing for her. but she is in denial. she certainly doesn't understand that it has metastasized all over her body. so i told her that we would "postpone" her next treatment until her mouth healed.

one of the side effects of the chemo is that it has caused the inside of her mouth to blister.

it hurts so much that she can't bear to eat.

she has had fewer than 300 calories in the past week. we've had IV fluids administered, they prescribed "magic" mouthwash and changed her appetite boosters.

she has taken such a turn for the worse in the past week that i called her doctor this morning and got a prescription for home hospice care.

dr. mc dreamy was incredibly kind. i had asked about a feeding tube. he said that the feeding tube would not help her. he says it will just feed the tumor. he explained how the hospice care would work. (he spent a few years doing hospice care and completed special studies in palliative care.) he told me that no one can predict how much time there is left, but that his sense - based on the last time that he saw her - was that he didn't think she would make it for two more weeks.

and that certainly matches what my gut tells me when i look at her. i have reached the point where i am constantly looking to see if she is still breathing.

so now there are different struggles. there is no way we are putting her in a nursing home. but i don't think we are equipped to care for her properly. so I have a hospice nurse coming out tomorrow to assess the situation and help us figure out if we need to hire in home care or if she should be admitted to "casey house" the hospice for our county (which happens to be located a mile or two north of us on the road that runs behind our house).

there are all of these uncharted waters to navigate and i just want to curl up in a little ball and have someone else do it for me. but she is the one who always took on what i couldn't handle...so it is my turn, now.

the malnutrition has taken a toll on her brain and, most of the time, she sleeps or stares or says things that do not make sense. and then, out of the blue, she has moments of lucidity. when you look at her and see that she is really there, and conscious, and looking back at you.

and those moments become even more precious.

we had a little crisis this morning and, after magee and maura and i got mummy all cleaned up and back into bed and tucked in for a nap, i went back in her room and rubbed her shoulder. and she looked up at me and whispered 'thank you, sweetie" and she was back. so i climbed into her bed behind her and rubbed her back and her shoulder and she reached up and took hold of my hand.

and i prepared myself to watch her starve herself to death.

and then she sat up and asked for some raspberry sherbet.

home for the holidays

I am back east again.

I arrived on Saturday. Mummy was sleeping when I got to the house, but I snuck in to say hello and she woke up and chatted with me for a while. She lights up when one of her children walks in the room. All the time. Not just after a long absence, but after a trip to the grocery store, or the mailbox at the end of the driveway.

You'll walk by the doorway to the sun room when you are feeding the dog or taking out the recycling and if you catch her eye, she will wave at you and smile.

She isn't eating enough. I try to bring her a little something every few hours, but the chemo has left her with the sense that everything tastes metallic, so I am trying to find things that minimize that sensation.

She has lost so much weight that she looks like she has aged ten years since I left a few weeks ago. She looks more and more like my grandfather every day. Today, she wore a deep red turtleneck. He used to wear turtlenecks all of the time (after his bow-tie years).

I am watching her live and die at the same time.

Sunday, Aunt Jane and Uncle John came by with some chicken. Elly came by and gave mom communion. It was a quiet day. Mom was tired. But the weather was beautiful. It was a gorgeous day.

Things are already a blur here. She asks me what day it is and sometimes I don't remember.

Today, I cried a few times. Once in the car (on the way to chemo) when she was saying how much Uncle Jude loves us.

My Uncle Jude is a gift. He fills the voids that my father left in my life.

And my thoughts went to the fact that I never thought I would have him to get us through this. And I cried because I am lucky that he will be here with his shoulder when we need a really good cry when this is all over.

But then I got my head back into today.

Mummy is still fighting very hard. She was amazing today when they were trying to do her bloodwork and they couldn't find a vein. She told the phlebotomist not to worry, that she was doing fine. And she made sure to thank her for doing such a great job before I wheeled her out.

Maura came along to the chemotherapy today. We have to keep the car so warm for mom, that Maura and I were pretty uncomfortable in the stifling heat. Maura made it up the elevator to the oncologist's floor and promptly threw up in the water fountain. A barrel of laughs, the women in our family.

The people who are caring for mom seem to develop a special affection for her. When I wheeled her out today, a few of them made a point to pop their heads out of the back office to say good-bye. She is managing all of this with a quiet grace that reminds me of her mother. GoGo was grace personified.

She got through the chemo like a champ. She read the post and did the sudoku puzzle. She does get a little confused sometimes and that frustrates her. She asks the same things over and over and I just repeat the answer to her as if she were asking for the first time.

That, it seems, is more a side effect of the chemo than of the cancer that has shown up in a spot on her brain. She is still quick witted. She is just a little forgetful.

We came home and she sat in the family room for a while while I changed her bedding and straightened her room. She has no patience for clutter right now. It really bothers her. She even had Maura take all of the magnets off of the fridge. When I came into the family room, she was wheeling herself around in the room, dusting. She is desperate to feel useful again.

This evening, after a visit from Aunt Jane, mom was curled up on her side watching the Grinch.

We love the Grinch.

Maura put mom's 8' tall inflatible Grinch out in the yard today. For years, mom used to buy treats (Walker's shortbread cookies and Martinelli's sparkling cider) and leave them on the porch for the boys across the street with a note "Merry Christmas. From the Grinch."

I climbed in the bed behind mom and spooned with her and watched the Grinch with her. Mostly, I just smelled her hair and felt her breathe and felt her hand on mine.

And I cried a tiny bit. Just a few tears. Not enough that she could tell, because me-feeling-bad will only make her feel worse.

I tried to commit every sense to memory.


Watching her live and die at the same time is bizarre. It is not horrifying, because the living part is so sweet.

It is truly an amazing gift.

She is still very much alive and love is coming from her like rays from the sun. And I am soaking up as much as I can.

good grief

i have this thing when i grieve. sometimes it hits me like a kick in the gut and i find myself kneeling on the floor, doubled over, wailing.

and i try not to let it all out when it hits me...because it usually makes the dog pretty nervous.

but the dog is east and i am west and i found myself on the floor for a moment tonight.

it wasn't a long moment. something just caught me by surprise. something silly.

i am taking advantage of the dog-free time to do some organizing and i am packaging rarely used dishes that are in a cabinet so i can use the cabinet for something more practical. and the dishes are wrapped in paper. and the odd bits: the gravy boat, sugar bowl, creamer, etc... are carefully wrapped with notations on the outside of each like "ivy gravy boat" or"ivy sugar bowl lid." in mummy's handwriting. because she was as excited as i was when i found a thousand dollars worth of antique california pottery at the salvation army store in santa monica for $150. that christmas, she gave me a book all about california pottery. when i moved up to san francisco she helped me pack it. when i unpacked it, i left it in the paper.

she helps me pack. she helps me clean. she helps me figure out where to keep dishes. she and i have so much fun together no matter how mundane the chore.

and the moment of doubled over sobbing was brief...because she is still here. and although i know that she will not be here forever, there is comfort in the fact that i see her handwriting all over my house and all over my life.

but there i was on the floor. and then it passed almost as quickly as it came over me. and i was left staring at some really ugly linoleum tiles. and i got out a utility blade and started to pull them up. only to find uglier ones underneath. and it is therapeutic because it is hard work. and now i don't have to wonder how i am going to spend these next few nights alone on the west coast...because i have started something that i now have to finish.

a year ago in july, lisa called me and told me that her little brother had died suddenly that morning. it was so incredibly unfair. and i found myself on the floor in the guest room (mom's room). and after it passed i was left with my face pressed against a really ugly wall to wall carpet. so i got out a utility knife and cut it out. and then i got pliers and found every carpet tack that had been stuck in that floor since 1928. and i spent the whole day on that floor.

it hits you, and then it knocks you over. and then you open your eyes and you don't worry about anything except that which is right in front of you.

it becomes good grief when you can turn the rush of bad feelings into something good and productive and positive. it becomes better when you realize that no matter how awful you feel at any given moment, you realize that we are not wired to feel awful forever. thank god.

my kitchen floor is hideous.