Boxing Day

He's still hanging in there, as far as I know. I guess everyone has told him it's okay now for him to let go. Everyone is going to be alright, things are taken care of. He still won't let go. Something is keeping here. No one can figure out what it is. They've upped his morphine dose to help him along, so I'm told. I completely disagree with this. "No heroic measure" this is what he wanted. Fine and dandy. But. What about the necessities of life. Like oxygen and fluids. He's receiving neither. I don't think those classify under 'heroic' but apparently in the medical world, they do. What if he's hanging on still because he's changed his mind? Is he aware? Is he still in there, or is it simply his body not wanting to shut down? I don't know. I can't imagine what it's like in that hospice room. It must be so heavy and sad. Of course it is. In a way I'm glad I'm not there, in a bigger way, I'm horrified that I'm not there. I should be there to lend my support or help wherever I can. Distribute tissues, go for coffee runs, offer hugs and a shoulder, an ear. Anything. But I'm not. I'm sitting in my house going half crazy thinking about this and thinking about how on earth I'm going to get myself back home for the service. Money doesn't grow on trees you know. We just had Christmas. We just finalized our budget for 2010. It was going to be the year of saving. Still is, really. But that doesn't mean that we still stretched ourselves in 2009. Yes, all bills are paid, there's food in the cupboard. But there's no wiggle room. If I have to hitchhike with my baby all the way home. I will. I have to get there, some way. I'll get there. I just don't know how.

I'm going to go to bed now. With my phone under my pillow. Knowing that every minute that ticks by is another minute closer to receiving the phone call I never wanted to get. The phone call that my mom never ever wanted to make. I'll go to my bed with a heavy heart. I'll pray for strength and understanding. For myself and my family. I'll pray for comfort for grandpa. For him to know that it's alright to go home. His body will be healed. He'll be whole again. I'll pray for peace for my aunts and my uncle. I'll give thanks for my wonderful and happy life. For my children, my husband. My brothers and sister. I'll thank the Lord for all the little things in my life that mean so much.