Mom and Margaret - Day 2

I couldn't find the three girls anywhere. We assumed the worst. But when I checked with the ICU hostess, she said Margaret was still alive! I couldn't believe it. Then I saw Joan, the eldest girl, and she said that miraculously the perforation in her mom's uhm, I forgot which body part, liver? had spontaneously closed, and she had stabilized. When she saw her, she was actually even sitting up in a chair, still a little confused, but going to pull through.

Then Joan looked at me and asked how MY mom was doing. I wish she could have the same sort of miracle, but we'll take what we can get. They pulled her blocked feeding tube out of her nose, and she ate a little soup and a popsicle last night, oh, and water. She was so thirsty. But they told her this morning that she couldn't eat, so there we go again - what to do? Luckily Mom agreed to having the procedure to get the stomach feeding tube put in, so that buys us a little time.

Here is what I want to say: I'm lonely. Every day feels like a week. I'm worried about Dad - his eyes are so baggy and red, and sometimes he just sits quietly, staring at the wall. But I can hear him thinking. After all, I'm his daughter. He wants to DO something. He wants an action plan. He's a leader, and no one really seems to know what's going on, or is in control. That bugs him, I think. So I hold it together for Mom and Dad, and it's easy, really. I go to my Happy Place, and I'm peaceful, and lightly funny, and optimistically realistic (is that an oxymoron?). But then I went to the Mom's dentist today to get my temporary crown glued back in, and they asked about her. I started crying. I told them to change the subject, so they did. Then someone else asked about Mom, and I started crying again. It would be sort of comically funny, in a tragic sort of way, if it wasn't so intense and surreal.

I'm home now, inexplicably tired, but not wanting to rest. I want to BE with someone. I miss Steve and Bill, and it seems like they're doing swimmingly without me, but Steve's got a headache, and I think he's a bit bugged that I'm calling 3 or 4 times a day, just to see if "Bill's okay." Really, I just want them to tell me they love me and miss me, and their lives just aren't whole unless I'm there. I want them to tell me they want me to cook the roasted vegetables for them, they want me to walk Spikey with them, they want me to cuddle.

But they don't. Well, yes, they do, but it's just not the same. I don't want to talk, really, but I don't want to be alone. I'm cooking for Dad, being their rock (that's what they're calling me - Rock or Rocky), running errands, figuring out plans, keeping family updated, but that's all too much. It's like, let me breathe and see what it's like. It's like I'm living in this parallel life that's running side by side with the rest of the world, but I'm separated from them. I can look over at everyone else, but I'm alone. That's how it feels, and I love people so much that it hurts to feel this way, but I suppose it's just the time, and the circumstances. But that's today, anyway. It's beautiful here, so I may go out for a little walk to see if the goose eggs have hatched yet.