(The post below was written on March 12, 2020. My mom passed on April 4, 2020.)
Almost exactly two months ago, I went to my parents’ house and realized that everything had changed. My mom and dad had a really bad week and it showed.
It was evident that my mom had taken a sharp turn for the worse and things moved quickly after that. She became bedridden, sleeping most of the time and barely eating or drinking.
I began panicking and wondering how much time she had left.
Two months, I thought to myself.
I give her about two months.
Now two months later, honestly not much has changed.
Well, a lot has changed with her care, but not much has actually changed with her condition.
It has been brutal, absolute torture, these last two months.
We keep asking ourselves and each other the same question: “How long will this go on?”
How long will my mom suffer like this?
How long will we have to watch it?
How many times will we say goodbye before it’s the final goodbye?
We don’t ask because we’re ready. We ask because the hardest part of this journey is the waiting.
The not knowing.
The trying to go on with your so-called normal life when you realize that this is now your normal life.
This is our new normal.
Two months ago, I was flailing about, desperately trying to keep my head above rough and rising waters, but I finally feel like I’m treading that water again.
Honestly, I can’t believe she’s still here.
I can’t believe we’re still doing this.
Every single day I ask myself, “How much longer?”
The reality is that things could change at any moment, even in this exact moment as I type these words.
But we’ll continue to take it one day at a time, one step at a time, because that’s really all we can do.