Mum had a run of chest infections since spring resulting in a number of hospital admissions culminating in me being taken into a wee room and being told she didn't have long left to live. I'd been waiting for someone to say that but somehow when it's actually said it's a bit unreal. Cue bubble.
Mum rallied to the degree she was discharged home with an 'advanced anticipatory care plan' and the expectation that we'll love her at home, make her comfortable but another infection would likely be her last. And so she came home. And I became a death obsessed wreck with a grim obsession with googling anything that would help me understand and reconcile myself with death. From 'How to tell when someone is dying', 'Life expectancy of people with dementia and copd' to 'what to do when someone dies'. I learned a lot.
It's strange looking back as not much had actually changed other than having been told what I was told in the wee room. Mums needs hadn't changed much, she was more fragile than before, painfully thin with wobbly legs like a newborn deer from her weeks of being bed bound. The change was in me as I felt I was entering uncharted territory and as a result was nervous. So I cancelled the work I had lined up as I didn't want to let anyone down at the last minute and I also felt I needed to free my energy and not be distracted by work. It was the summer holidays so the kids were off and I wanted to focus on loving mum and making sure we were all ok.
And so a slightly different journey began...
