This is sadness

Generally, when we get calls about our mother -- whether from the care facility or her medical providers -- they call the landline. They all have my cell, but I don't always hear that. When I am home, I definitely hear the landline, and my heart jumps.

As often as it is reminders about prescriptions, live people trying to interest me in solar, or recordings about updating my Google business page (I do not have one), it could be something about Mom. If my sisters are also home, our hearts jump together.

The last two calls were telling us that she appears to have entered end of life and asking about admitting her to hospice.

The heart jump was right that time.

And then it wasn't as bad as it seemed.

Entering "end of life" is not at all precise.

I have known that part, I guess since my aunt died. 

That is one of the hard absurdities of life: someone can appear fine and then be gone in an instant, and someone can seem to be at death's door and spend weeks without going inside.

Mom does not seem to be at death's door.

There were indicators that she is losing her ability to swallow, which is the end stage of Alzheimer's disease. A lot of people don't get there because something else takes them first, but not being able to swallow does get you there.

She can still swallow for now. She is on oxygen and they have her head raised when she is in bed, which seems like a good precaution.

She is less alert than she has been, but that has been progressing for a while.

If you will recall, I wrote in August that I did not expect her to survive this holiday season, because of the annual COVID outbreaks between Thanksgiving and New Year's. Then the facility had its first outbreak in September. That was a heart-stopping e-mail.

We've been dealing with this a long time, but it never gets better. 

This hurts. Even though we still aren't there, and nothing that much has changed, it hurts.

Even though there is a level at which we believe it will be better for her, and we don't really have her with us, we don't want her to go. 

It's not that we are despondent, but we do feel it.

Something we do to make each other laugh is quote lines from movies and television shows; we were doing it more aggressively after that call. We were laughing a lot, but we still knew.

We are going about our lives and getting things done, including fun things, but we know.

I see it most in my selfies. It is harder to smile now. I don't want to frown and I don't think that accurately conveys how I am feeling, but the smile that usually springs up really easily isn't now. 

That's happened before, so I know it's temporary, and it will probably happen temporarily again before we are done. 

Shortly after the call I sent out a message to my siblings. There was a reply with a typo. I know it was meant to say "This is sad news," but the "w" was missing. 

Add another "s" and that sounds about right.