Limbo Land

No one can prepare you for limbo land.  After being in this place for the last five days, I still feel ill-equipped and unprepared.

On Monday night my mom got the idea in her head that if she got up and walked to the bench in her room she would be more comfortable.  So, like the crazy person that she is, she got up, walked to the bench, discovered it was not comfortable, and walked back to bed.  My mother hadn't walked since Thanksgiving.

At some point Monday night she believes she had another heart attack.  The plan was for her to have another massive heart attack and be done. End of story.  Fall asleep instantly and painlessly and never wake up.  We have all said our peace, and I was fully on board with this plan.  Instead my mother started having shortness of breath and some back pain.  The same signs she had when she had her original heart attack back in June.

She let us all know on Tuesday, and we have been slowly declining since then.  Painfully slowly.  It started with panic attacks about not being able to breath and slowly we have watched her body start to shut down, but not nearly fast enough.  This is crippling.  For her and for my soul.  There is no way to prepare your heart to watch someone you love the most in this world suffer, with so little that you can do about it.  In all honesty it has been gut wrenchingly awful.

Since Wednesday we haven't really had any conversations.  A word here or there, trying to get her comfortable.  She was still in there, deep inside, but today she seems to look past you when she opens her eyes at all.  Her soul desperately wanting to go home, but her 54 year old organs still trying to fight for life.

We continue to sit around her and pray for God to mercifully end this.  To take her now.  Hospice said 48-72 hrs, which would have brought us to Friday.  I wish this had ended on Friday.

No one can prepare you for this.  You can't start grieving because she is still here, and it feels like I have been slowly trying to let her go since we got the news that she was not eligible for a transplant.  You want her to feel nothing but love as you sit around that bed, but slowly everyone becomes emotionally exhausted and worn down.  You feel like the world has stopped and have no clue when it will start moving again.  You can't move forward or make a plan.

So we continue to sit in the shit; we continue to sit in limbo land.  We continue to offer water, to help her move, or anything that we can grasp at to try and make this the littlest bit more bearable.

Please continue to pray for peace.  Please pray for my momma to have her upgrade. Please pray for patience for my family, and for me.  Please pray for strength for us to continue on this road, until I can kiss her sweet face goodbye.

No one can prepare you for limbo land, or to lose a parent, so we will keep learning moment by moment.  One foot in front of the other, until she can walk through heaven's gates.  Go home, sweet mama.  Go home.