It was truly kind of my father to have ordered me a "snack tray" for lunch - maybe that should be "lunch" - when I arrived at Kingston Hospital. Oooooh, yum. A plastic wrapped ham sandwich. Some things that might have been prawn crackers, but quite likely weren't. Three small jaffa cakes (my loathing of jaffa cakes is deep and passionate). Some unhappy sticks of cucumber accompanied by sliced tomato. And - the pièce de resistance - in the center - some sliced up pork pies and cold sausages. Unsurprisingly, since my mother is no longer eating, I ate her grapes.
I was so touched by everyone's thoughts, prayers, kind words, and virtual support animals (I'm now being a support human to my mother's disoriented and unhappy geriatric cat). It's hard to find the right semi-public terms for how she's doing: not well. It's a long, slow, painful process. But I'm very glad to be here, and that she briefly recognized me ("Is that Kate? I think it's Kate, but that doesn't make sense"), and that I could obviously give her some comfort, and my poor tired father a bit of a respite. Now it's my turn to try and grab a few hours sleep ...
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