Mom countdown - Day 8

It was exactly one week ago that Dad called me on my cell phone. Exactly one week ago to this minute that Missy Pooh arrived at my door (I call her Missy Pooh, but ironically she hates to be called Missy, but lets me call her that), and we headed off to Park Rapids. What a great trip down there. We talked about clothes, boys, Reiki, questionable childhood choices. We laughed, we cried, we drank purified water.

If you don't have a Missy Pooh in your life, you should. I met her almost 4 years ago (I think? It seems like I've always known her), through Lady Wellness. We didn't even know each other, and yet we started joking around like we were old friends. We said inappropriate (though really funny) things, and didn't care who heard us. I tend to be reserved about who I let in to my inner core - there are only a few people in there, but Missy sprinted right to the center, and hasn't budged off since. How did she do it? I have no idea, but she's my friend, one of my best friends, and I can tell her anything. Even my mom loves her, because she tuned in and saw a guide for my mom. The amazing thing is that my mom KNEW about that guide, so it brought her great comfort. When I'm talking on the phone in the hospital room, Mom asks if it's Melissa. 9 times out of 10 it IS Melissa. She helped me through my crash and subsequent amazing transformation throughout last fall and winter. She had the spiritual eyes to help guide me up the rocky terrain to the summit. It was intense, and important, and Missy never wavered, she never gave up, her clear vision gave me hope.

So, it was only appropriate that Melissa be with me in the car when Dad's call came in. I cried while he talked. She could hear him, and knew something was wrong. We didn't talk too much the rest of the way back to Fargo, and when we did, it was in hushed tones, which is usually NOT how we talk to each other.

How is Mom today? Her hemoglobin is a little down, but miraculously she's one of the few who respond well to this medication that regulates heart rhythmn. The chiropractor said one of my ribs was pulled out, my right hip join was locked up, as well as my upper cervicals. Ouch. I can't sit in that hospital chair anymore, but I'm going back to Bismarck on Sunday to relieve my two sisters who stayed. I don't know what to do. Steve thought we might get a camping cot and set it up on the floor so it won't be so crunchy. Dad's hired three nurses to stay the nights, and that's what I PRAY will happen, so we can all just stay at the house and get some sleep.

Last night my stepson got up at 3AM and banged around. I got back to sleep at 4AM. At 5AM, the neighbor's dog started whining and that was the end of my sleep, only 6 hours in all. I'm trying not to get angry, but I feel like screaming at those who are disturbing my sleep to please be considerate, but everybody is living in their own little worlds, and if they want to bang around at 3AM, well, that's what they do, and if they want to bark at 5AM, well, they bark. I understand all of that, but I feel like I'm in this surreal world, not quite here, and I feel all alone, like no one really understands. I want to be with my mom, I'm sad to be with my mom, knowing it's almost over. I'm crying over every little thing, and I'm tired. So tired. But I wouldn't trade this time for any other time, because it feels like something's growing; maybe it's me, I don't know. But it feels like a line has been dropped down my center, and it keeps going deeper and deeper, and I'm waiting for it to reach the bottom of me, but it never does - it just keeps going. And it's amazing to watch it dropping. And I wonder if it will ever reach the bottom, and I wonder what that means if it does. And I wonder why I wonder about it at all, because it just IS.