Life Cycle

Molly and I sit across the room from each other. Mother's bed lies between us such that we can't see each other. She reads a bridge guide, expanding her knowledge of the game. The playlist Jim loaded on her iPod Shuffle plays in her ear, and she occasionally sings along. A novel about a knitting group plays in mine, as I work on a cotton and silk summer scarf. Mother lies between us. She is completely "out of it", in a deep sleep. I cannot rouse her. This woman who loves food more than air will not wake herself enough to eat. If I get a straw into her mouth to try to hydrate her, she locks her teeth around it. If I drop some water into her mouth, she will not swallow.

Maybe it's the trauma of the surgery. Maybe it's the Percoset before this morning's physical therapy. Whatever has caused this coma-like state just results in her not being able to focus her eyes when she opens them, in her not being aware of her surroundings or willing [able?] to exert any effort.

The doctors have told us to expect her death in the next six months. Broken hips at an advanced age are the great predictor of oncoming death.

But she's lived a long and full life. She has held positions of leadership in her church. She drove her car up into the mountains to her beloved cottage until she was 95. She has sat on the floor and played "Tammy's Store" with her grandsons. She has a sweet disposition and everyone who knows her, loves her And she's NINETY-EIGHT years old.

I hope she knows that when she's had enough, she can go ahead and leave.

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Sweet story: When Scott began talking, instead of "Grandpa", he seemed to reverse the syllables so it came out PA-gram, which became "Pakum". "Grandma" came out "Tammy". Their grandpa loved his name, but "Tammy" - Not so much.

Her reaction was, "I'm not Tammy, I'm Grandmother." Harumph! But when she played Store with Scott and Tyler, it was "Tammy's Store" that Mr. Jones and Mr. Smith would visit.