- I am back in New City, following a week in my home town. A week of watching a decline interspersed with time with our clan, so rarely assembled. A juxtaposition of gummy baby smiles from P. and bubbles on the lawn with the other three littles, and unending feelings of helplessness watching my mother worry and grieve.
- I don’t know what you say to someone who is dying, who did not want to die, but would rather this be quick if it is the only way forward. I’m not one for final conversations. I don’t need baggage unpacked and picked over. If you faint, I will catch you. If your tremor worsens, I will hold your hand steady. If I have to go, to make space for you to come home, to leave room for your children to spend this time with you, then a kiss and an “I love you” will suffice, though it tears me in two to be leaving.
- In a clan of eleven adults, there are eleven different ways to grieve. We’ve done well with being kind to one another.
- I owe a weekly update. Two, in fact, as a new week clicked over today. I rescheduled my missed OB appointment to this evening, so will wait til after that. Spud has been poking me for a few days now, advanced from flutters. This is one of my stepfather’s main regrets, to not be here to welcome Spud to the world. I tried. I tried so hard to make this happen before time ran out, but lost the race.
- I will be heading back to my hometown soon – to take over as support once my step-siblings have to head back west, or for a funeral. The next week will tell.