Also, my mother is coming to help me with moving. She hates wrinkled clothes -- in all likelihood, she'll see my clothes crammed in the suitcases and take it upon herself to fold all of them. (I don't know why I hate folding laundry so much, but it is by far my least favorite chore. I long ago realized that, if I do laundry and then leave the basket of unfolded clothes somewhere that my mother will pass by, those clothes will be folded when I get back.)

Barb, not yet. Thank you in advance! And Gud, I got yours and backflung.

Okay, I'll try from my gmail addy-- it has a preface of mydecember227, just in case it pops in.

sj, maybe check Craigslist and see if anyone is advertising services there, for price comparison? Or another local classified source.

Barb, received. Will likely reply tomorrow, as I am going to shower and collapse.

That should have been an episode of Ally McBeal!

More likely Boston Legal.

I'm looking at furniture online. I'm pretty sure I'm going to need to get an armoire, since my new place has tiny closets. Furniture is expensive. (I've never really bought furniture before -- nearly everything in my apartment now is stuff that I got from relatives, and most of the rest is IKEA stuff that's starting to fall apart. I have no idea how to buy real furniture.)

consignment shops, thrift stores, estate sales.

are there SFistas about? It looks like clan Sox may be passing through in early December, and possibly late December as well.

are there SFistas about?

You rang?

Back from Tim's parents' house. He's sleeping there tonight, but not tomorrow, as long as things don't change clinically (which is obvs. not a guarantee).

She's starting to have that end-of-life restlessness, and a little vocalization with it (and when I say "little," I mean you can barely call the sounds moans; they're more like a mutter trending towards a moan). Still, it's hard to see, and the boys are getting more and more weepy. Especially Tim. Not that that's a bad thing; it's a normal reaction. But they've been working so hard to hold it together, and it's starting to unravel.

I still just feel sucker-punched with how quickly it all happened and how rapid her decline has been. It's only been a week -- ONE week -- since she went in the hospital. God DAMN.

I am eating chocolate ice cream and then going to bed. The Ambien is a given.

It's only been a week -- ONE week -- since she went in the hospital. God DAMN.

Right. My mom started letting go when she found out she was terminal. It took about a week, I guess. I thought of this when you mentioned the feeding issues because I always felt that not eating is just part of the dying process. Why it's better to not have people on IVs at the end. Food is energy and they're not trying to process it or conserve it at the end. When they're ready to let go that's the actual physical thing that's happening.

When they get to the labored breathing it's close. Breathing then becomes the chore. There was a bar in Cambridge, MA that was the hangout for all the crew rowers on the Charles. There was this great b/w photo on the wall there of a woman leaning into her stroke with all her might, fully intent and her muscles straining. And I thought about that picture when my Mom was at the end. Where every breath was like leaning into an oar.

There's something about that word "expire" - about that last breath easing out, and the breath they don't pull back in. Letting go.

I remember being so conscious of my mom's physical body after she died. How my sister was all "it's an empty shell, and her spirit has passed" and that felt so disrespectful to me. This is the body that bore me. That held me, that nurtured me. Still as clay. Not empty but still and heavy. Without the lightness of breath.