Deciding on Hospice
There's so little left of what used to be my mother. She's toothless and listless. She's not eating because she's not hungry. Even chocolate can't entice her to put sustenance into her body; the same large bag of Hershey's Kisses has been in the bowl at the side of her chair for two months now. When G'ma's not eating chocolate, you know there is something amiss. She's still sparkly when I walk in the door, but there's no gleam of recognition beyond responding in kind to the smile in my eyes. She knows she's supposed to be glad that I am there; she just doesn't remember why. I remember when that kind of forgetfulness made me very sad. Now, it's just part of the gestalt. She weighs less than I do, which is wrong on so very many levels. Losing twenty pounds since May has left her without any padding. Her pants fall down unless her underwear is bunched up, preventing gravity from undressing her in public. She's always cold...