Home from John’s. Thank you to everyone who commented or sent me supportive tweets. They mean a lot to me.
Just to wrap up the saga from Friday, I called M today. I told John, “Don’t let me leave without calling him.” Because I knew if John weren’t there, my courage would fail. As it was, my heart was banging when I dialed the number.
It didn’t go well. He wasn’t mean, but he was cold. When I suggested that John and I come out next Saturday to have dinner with him, he said no, he’d rather not. Said he was hurt and flabbergasted by my absence and he’d just as soon not see us. I didn’t try to explain myself; I knew I couldn’t. Everything I could say would sound like a lame excuse. So I just said I’m sorry, I don’t blame him, and there was no way I could make him understand where I was coming from, so there was no use in trying. He said “I understand, I think. But I can’t condone it.”
OK. I said that’s fine, but I still want to see my mother. He said, “Well, you’d better hurry up.” Ugh. I asked how she was, and he said she’s still in the same facility, but under hospice care now. Round-the-clock care, never gets out of bed, almost never eats anything. Basically, they’re just keeping her comfortable; it could be tomorrow, or it could be next year. He goes to see her every day. Sometimes, she recognizes him.
I can’t go there during the week; there’s no way I can handle going there by myself. I will need to wait until next Saturday, when John can be with me. So I told him we would go see her then, and he asked what time. I suggested around 5:00, and he said no, they serve dinner then. (What difference does it make, if she doesn’t eat?) So I asked if 4:00 is better; he said yes, but couldn’t we come earlier? I didn’t want to mention that we take John’s mom out to lunch every Saturday; I didn’t think that would go over well. (It does make a bit of difference that John’s mom is five minutes away, versus my mother’s 70 miles.) So I just said we had things to do, and we’ll be there around 4:00.
He grudgingly said he might meet us there. He won’t commit to it, and that’s fine. If he does, he does; if he doesn’t, he doesn’t. If I’m that unforgivable, then I guess that’s that.
I managed to hold it together until I hung up, then I lost it. Thank goodness for John. He didn’t offer any platitudes or too many opinions, although I know he certainly has them. He held me close and said, “You did the best you could. I’m proud of you.” I hold that phrase very dear, and he knows it.
Made it home, in rain that was pouring down so hard, I couldn’t see. Pretty bizarre to see all of us on the freeway, normally 65 miles per hour, crawling along at 40 to avoid going into skids. It’s good to be home. Despite the wretched experience of talking to M, I’m glad I got it over with.
Tomorrow, I can have some fun. Tomorrow, I can post something fun again. Thanks for bearing with me.