I don’t know exactly what this photo has to do with this post. I just know that I love him. Everything about him. The expression on his face most especially. 
Mum dearest is in the hospital once again, this time a late night through the roof blood pressure freak out. There were firemen, very nice firemen, and ambulance and emergency room complete with crazy go nuts emergency room characters. Best one: old sun burnt leather skin guy wearing what was left of a pair of camo pants, in shreds bleeding, shirtless and checking himself out whether anyone wanted him to or not. 
There have been tests after test after horrible test. A brand spanking new hospital wing, with free Internet access (!) but I have to say, the whole thing is so…automated, it feels like you’re on a conveyor belt headed (eventually) toward the edge of a raging waterfall. Best case scenario.
My heart aches for my mom. She is shrinking right before my eyes. 
into the machine.
There is nothing for it. We’re all headed for the bone yard and we do well to keep that in mind. And not in a bad way. Isn’t that part of why we are here? We are born, stuff happens, we do stuff, and then we die. 
There, don’t you all feel better now?
Namaste

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16 comments

  1. Sweetheart. I am so sorry but yes, that's where we're all headed and in a way, it IS comforting. It's just so sad we have to get so caught up in all of the machinery before we do.
    Sending love.

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  2. oh my…I am so sorry. As soon as you can bring your mom home…call hospice…learn everything you can do to help her pass peacefully (if that is the way it goes) and love her up every single moment. I never thought I would say it but after reading this I am so grateful for the way my dad passed away a year and half ago…he was diagnosed with stage four lung cancer…lived eight months …we brought him home and we loved on him every single second. One day we will talk…

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  3. I'm so sorry. I am in total agreement with your quick philosophizing. I have to say, though, that for me there are very few worse places than hospitals. Now the firemen that bring you there are an entirely different story —

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  4. Hi Yolanda. You are such a good person I am simply amazed that I know you. That's what I'm thinking about. How lucky we all are to have you in our lives.
    love,
    Rebecca

    ps. That photo uptop is simply remarkable. As is the photo of your mother's hands they look like an ancient version of your hands.

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  5. My blog roll has not been updating! I missed this post, Yolanda… I have been there with both parents.

    It is heartbreaking to see vibrant people slipping away.

    It's almost like you want 'it' to be over with. the guilt for thinking that but the realization that they will never be who they were…

    I brought a picture of my Mother to the hospital so the nurses and such could see her as a person not an old little bitty shrinking woman.

    jeeeeeeezus I don't want that for me. I want to wake up dead.

    hang tight…. it's hard.

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  6. Carolyn, me too, I want to wake up dead! It ain't pretty and thank you for voicing something that seems too awful to even think, but there you have it. I love that you thought of bringing in a pic of your “young” Mom! I can see how these nurses can just run on auto pilot after a while.Who can blame them?
    hangin tight,
    yo

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