That is how I feel just now. I'm not inviting comments on this one, either, because I just don't feel like 'talking' talking, if you know what I mean. I just want to say stuff, but I don't want to listen. Probably narrow minded, but it's my blog, as they say.
Anyway.
Last night, as I was drifting off to sleep, Sue came into my room. A bit of a feat, you may say, as she is in a locked ward in a nursing home some 600 miles away, and probably in a mildly drugged sleep.
But she came in, stood just inside the doorway, and said "It's okay, Cazie - I'm alright now".
As she came in, I sat up, and as she spoke, so drifted away, faded, and I thought is was yet another nightmare in the acculumation of nightmares I have been having most nights for weeks uncounted. Most of them are about the kids, and something terrible happening to them. I won't discuss them as I don't want to feed the demon.
I did what I always do when woken from a nightmare. I turned on the light. I walked the house. Checked the children. Checked the doors. Stood in the living room, in the dark, and listened to the children breathing, the house breathing, the night sleeping. Had a drink of water. Went back to bed and slept.
There was no surprise when I got the mail from Mum telling me she was ill again.
She is drifting. She slips in and out. One minute she is lucid ... or as lucid as she ever is nowadays. Then, she is gone. Levels between not responding although aware, right thru to comatose.
Mum and I have talked and we think the disease has started on the part of her brain that keeps her tied here. We think it is like a lightbulb that is not quite connected to the electricity. She comes on - a light you can connect with; and then the neurons flicker and she is gone. Soon, we think, those neurons will flicker their last, and she will be comatose, unwakeable, unreachable.
We wondered what would go first. The bit that tells her heart to beat. The bit that tells her lungs to breathe. But it seems it much be gentler than that. That she might just drift away.
I can't let these tears flow. They may never stop.
