Today, during my lunch break, I called Robin. I’m not entirely sure if it’s spelled “Robin” or “Robyn,” but she’s mom’s hospice case nurse.
Yesterday as I was flying back to Florida from Southern New Mexico, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we might be missing something. “Maybe there’s some treatment we haven’t explored yet, or perhaps there’s a reasonable explanation for this whole situation that I just haven’t grasped.” I thought.
I didn’t arrange for hospice care—my brother did that when he was still speaking to us. But after the transition, he stopped communicating with either me or my father. I don’t even know how it went from a memory care facility to hospice care. I always thought hospice was just for the very end, but I’ve since learned it’s about making someone with a terminal illness as comfortable as possible and can go on for over a year.
Over the weekend, while I was caring for mom and giving dad a break, it felt like we were just giving up. It didn’t seem like we were doing anything to help her—it was just about managing pain and trying to calm her agitation.
Today, during my lunch break, I called Robyn. I needed to hear directly from someone who could give me a clear answer. I asked her, “Is there no hope? Can we not try anything else?”
She was kind but firm. “Your mom is in the final stages of dementia.” She read through a list of evaluation metrics that would classify her under the hospice treatment. Can she do this..…… Can she do that……… Does she know……… all answers were “No.”
“I know it’s hard.” Robin said.
As I reflect this certainly progressed quickly—what was Stage 3 is now Stage 6, all in less than a year. “We’re doing everything we can to keep her comfortable.” Robyn said.
I sat with that for a moment. “Ok” I told her. “Thank you.” I think I just needed to hear it out loud from a reliable source.
As I sit here reflecting, a part of me—the part that’s always been relentless or perhaps just stubborn—refuses to believe this is the end. Maybe I’m in denial, and I just don’t want to accept it.
This weekend, while sitting next to mom in a rare moment of stillness, she turned to me and asked, “You’re not scared of anything, are you?”
I replied, “No, mom. I’m not. Are you?”
She paused and simply said, “No.”
Journaling was Recommended 