Surreal

It has been a few weeks since my mother-in-law died. Looking back on those last three weeks we spent with her seems surreal - a most uncommon time. I am glad we were able to spend her last days with her but, looking back, it wasn't easy.

I remember the weird feeling I had when I saw her slippers standing beside her bed when I knew she wouldn't be able to walk in them anymore. I remember how everything about her died, a little at a time: not being able to get up on her own anymore, not able to sit without getting dizzy; not able to eat solids - and then not able to swallow even the pureed foods. Her sight gradually went; her ability to speak and be understood left her; and gradually she fell into a sleep from which she didn't awake. We watched all this happen little by little. We let her go little by little. That was probably a good way for it to happen. Lots of time to let her know we loved her - too much to leave her alone at a time like that.

Boxes of her stuff are piled, untouched since the day we cleaned out her room. I need to get at them; I need to clean up. But it's hard to get started. It's hard for me to discipline myself to do anything that really "needs" to be done. We still have stacks of papers that need to be attended to as well. They've been piling up since we started staying at the home with Mom. There are unpaid bills hiding in there. I've been reading lots and spending time with friends, but it's hard to get motivated on the clean-up jobs.

And every time I walk through the room where we have Mom's stuff piled, I see the afghan that I covered myself with when I slept in the room with her during those last weeks. It brings me back to that surreal time.