Last week was Mom’s 85th birthday. She actually came out of her room to eat her birthday dinner with us, laughed while she tried to blow out her candles, and had a very respectable hunk of chocolate cake.
It was a good night.
The next morning, tho, she refused to eat saying it was “time”.
I don’t know if it actually is time or not. She’s relatively pain-free right now. Even tho the pain meds are giving her strange dreams and mild hallucinations, neither seems to bother her too much.
She woke up one day laughing and I asked her what she was laughing at.
Mom: “I was at a party.”
Me: “Oh, really? That’s cool.”
Mom: “It was my funeral.”
We’re caught in this odd place where we know that, short of some sort of miracle, she is not going to get any better. We don’t want her to suffer, but no one wants to see their loved one go on from this life either. So, here we are in this place with no real happy answers.