One day at a time. That is all I can do. I am one more day closer to going out of town and doing whatever it takes to escape everything. This is what motivates me. I went to my grandparent’s at lunch time today since I will be leaving tomorrow. Is this going to be the last time I see her? When I got there she was sleeping but my mother said that she might wake up if I went in the there. She had told her that I was coming. As I rub her arm and wake her up, I tell her that I came to see her before I went away and that I will eat all the fish and chips and other seafood I can for her. Frances is known to eat anything. Her favorite is seafood, in a shell, out the shell, maybe still breathing. I wouldn’t have put it past her. Humor may not be the best idea, but it is the only thing I've got. Telling her that I came by to see her possibly for the last time is not what I wanted and this was how I tried to cope.
As she goes in and out of sleep and finally back in, all I could do was look at her. Me staring at her is not going to change anything. In fact, the person that I see before isn’t the person that I have known and loved all these years. What I see before me is a shell which makes this more complex on an acceptance level. Her condition had gradually deteriorated years ago to the point that her being bedridden had become the new normal instead of her using a walker or scooter, but it was now slowly and surely changing. Perhaps she has already gone and this part is for us. When I left I didn’t want to say goodbye, like I always have. I was afraid it would be my last. At that last moment that I was going to walk towards the door, I walked in the bedroom one more time to look at her instead.