Mom and Margaret - Day 1

I went back to the hospital at 11, having tucked Bill and Steve safely in bed. I met Janelle in the lobby.
"Susie? Susie Ekberg?"
I didn't recognize her - it has been over 30 years. She was 11 then.
Janelle - the daughter of my high school basketball coach. I babysat for the three girls.
"Why are you here?" I asked.
Her mom, Margaret, had fallen three weeks ago, and suffered head injury. When they ran tests, they found problems with her kidneys and liver. When they went in, they cut her bile duct and didn't know it. Bile poisoned her throughout the night. When they went back in, they couldn't find the cut, so they just sewed her back up again. Her kidneys were failing, and they were all just waiting. Margaret was a school teacher - on basketball trips we would help her correct papers and cut out construction letters and pictures. She had dyed white blonde hair and dark glasses. When I saw the girls yesterday afternoon at 1:30, I handed them a sympathy card, told them how much I cared about them, and left to sit with Mom. By 3 they were all gone. They never came back. Margaret probably died. 64 years old.

How odd to be so happy to see these sweet girls after 30 years, but how sad. What a coincidence? I think not. I don't know why we met again, but it means something, I know it does.

I went for a walk last night, after sitting with Mom for 8 hours and not eating. Steve called - their cable was out, and Tiger was on the 18th, needed to make an eagle to win, par to tie with Mediate. I'd been following the tournament on Mom's hospital TV, and actually cared. I turned right around and started running for the house so I could keep them updated. I made it just in time to watch Westwood line up for the putt (he missed), then gave Steve the blow-by-blow report on Tiger's amazing putt to tie. Then I felt the thudding in my chest - my heart rate wasn't too high, but after I hung up and went into the basement to rest, it went up to over 100 and wouldn't back down, thudding and racing and beating irregularly. Is this new? No, but it scared me a little, like my body was betraying me. Then I thought about what was going on. Bill had cried and screamed for 5 straight hours on Saturday with a molar that was coming out, my hormones are uh, a little off-balance, I ate 1000 calorie Father's Day brunch, then hadn't eaten for 8 hours, and on. Time to slow down, take better care of myself. Dad, too. I'm staying home today to make spinach broccoli soup for us, re-sod the dry patches on the lawn, and go grocery shopping. Oh, and go to the dentist to have my temporary crown glued back in.

Mom has a feeding tube. She doesn't want any more treatments. She can't get out of bed. There's more fluid in her lungs. We don't know what's going on, or what to do, so we keep meeting with the doctors and getting reports. And we talk - people call, family calls, we talk to each other, I keep clearing my throat. Not that I don't like to talk, but I find myself seeking solace in the great trees on the other side of the road. The goose eggs are still on the little island, and the turtles are coming out to sun on the log. That's what makes my heart calm down, that's what calms the ice that is flowing through my veins, the ice of anxiety that I'm trying to make friends with, because I can't panic now, now when everyone needs me, but it's hard, sometimes, because I just want something to be different than what it is now, but it's not. So I stay. And I cook soup. And I'll watch for Margaret's funeral announcement, and I may go. I DID bring my black dress.