104 days. . .

Father, it’s been 3 months since my last confession.  Three hail Marys and something else mumbled under his breath and I am off to the races. Figuratively speaking. But indeed by the date stamp on the last entry, it’s been a while. Exactly 104 days. Seems more like an eternity since i strapped my writing practice on the back of a mule and trudged up the hill to sacrifice my Isaac. my writing practice had become my Isaac, and I’m still not convincedi have appeased the literary gods.

But here goes nothing.

Today i got a call from the nursing home where mother has lived for about 6 months. Six months of hell for both of us. They want to know if I would consider hospice care for mother. I ask, “isn’t that where people go to die because there’s nothing more anyone can do for them?” with only the slightest quiver in my voice. The social worker says “yes and no,” and insists i think about this as an alternative. after all, mother is confused and doesn’t know what she wants, and since she is refusing to eat, her body weight is dropping to dangerous, anexoric levels and the nursing home staff don’t know what to do.

So i am left to ponder hospice care for mother and i can’t shake the notion that it’s because the staff are good ole’ garden variety lazy and would rather sentence my mother to die than take 15 minutes and sit with her and help her eat. they are content to shift the responsibility onto me, suggesting that if I brought her food that she liked, perhaps she would regain some weight and hospice would not be on the table.

She would heal from the wounds that I’m more and more convinced the nursing home inflicted in the first place and everyone would like happily ever after.

SO you can understand why i had to come out of my captivity, at least temporarily so, to put my thoughts on paper.

One Response to “104 days. . .”

  1. Rosie Bishop Says:

    Writing can be your angel, helping you to vent and deal with the most unthinkable conflicts. It is good to think about the breezes carrying just a fraction of those bleak tortures away from your heart. Blessings and courage, Diane, from Rosie

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