Not easy; not not not easy. Outside the hospital, a beautiful summer dances on; inside, the struggle for life. Sometimes it looks as if my mother has defeated the odds and will pull through yet again, this her thousandth health crisis. This morning she is very weak and not much interested in anything, as if she’s shutting down. Impossible to tell which way this will go. Yesterday I took some of her favourite things from her condo – her Inuit bear sculptures, the silver Vanderbilt cup my uncle won at a bridge tournament, lots of family pictures – over to her new place at Amica, tried to make it look as homey as possible. And it does look pretty nice. Now we’re not sure she’ll ever live there.
Ah, who knows? Today she walked with her walker and the physio right to the end of the hall and back, with a rest in the middle. That was great. Then she collapsed into bed and slept for a long time. I sat beside her bed and read, went down to Tim Horton’s for some caffeine, back up. My brother arrived and helped her eat lunch. I went; he stayed; I’m going back in an hour or so, and from there to the airport. I think it’s called a vigil. We are being vigilant.
This morning I prayed to whatever god might be listening that I be allowed to keep my health, though I know even saying it is asking for trouble. Nothing matters more than staying out of those buildings, than being able to eat and walk and breathe on your own steam for as long as possible. I wish that for all of you. From the bottom of my heart.
