Monday, April 4, 2011

Heisenberg, go skip a rock

He doesn't like how much time i spend on the computer, though if I don't have that stimulation, I get depressed. And it doesn't really seem to make much difference whether I'm on the computer or not as far as how much we talk.

My brother and I have been trying to decide what to do about our mother next, and decided today to bring her home and enroll her in daycare (I sound like I am adopting a baby).

So my dad and I bickered about that. He is worried that it will be the same as it was before she went in. My unce Burke is worried about that. But at that time, my father's death was imminent, it was all so new and the grief so fresh and the stress so great that we just had to get her out of our hair so we could breathe and think for awhile.

I am not looking forward to having her back. But short-term, it seems cruel and unnecessary to put her in just another home that she will feel lonely and abandoned in. I am having some major guilt lately about having done this to her at all. Burke thinks that both of my parents have thrived away from each other and he is worried about her drug use increasing, etc. He is worried that they will both decline, that this will accelerate my father's death.

I won't keep her at home if that is the case.

My father asked what would happen next if we couldn't handle her at home.
"Well, I'll tell you what'll happen next. You and Mom and I will move to Missouri and Matt will go home and get a full-time job."

"I'm not moving to Missouri," he said.

"You will if that's the best option!" I snapped.

"You seem to think I'm going to live a long time, and I don't think that's the case. It only takes one system to fail. One system out of three. And after that, it will go very fast."

I don't know what to say. No, I don't think his death is imminent. I sort of want him to get scanned again so we can see if he's in remission-- that is how good he looks. We thought that he had been sleeping more because we learned on Sunday that one of his oxygen tubes had pulled away from its machine, so he wasn't getting his full dose of oxygen for at least a day or two, I'd guess. I saw the tube on the floor, but I didn't know it wasn't supposed to be on the floor.

It has been almost 36 hours since we fixed it, though, and he still falls asleep on the couch in front of the television. And it doesn't seem to be hindering his sleep at night.

I suppose this is a metaphor for life, full of uncertainty, because none of us can really be sure of anything. But right now, rather than a microcosm, it feels infinite and heavy.

It's so hard to know what the right thing to do is. I hate to make so many mistakes, but I'd rather make mistakes and get to the right thing than be complacent and culpable.


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