And... she's off. Mom got a room. 7/23 '21
After all that tooth-gnashing, we got a call from hospice this morning that a bed became available; they were able to prioritize us because they knew our situation was getting a little crazy.
We are waiting for the transport now.
It is crazy to think that these are the last moments Mom will be at her home.
She believes she's going "to the hospital" because she knows she doesn't feel well. She said "It's time. I want to go to the hospital."
Through the dementia and through the drug haze, I believe deep down she knows what's happening.
I know she'll be OK. I'm worried about my dad. He's scared to live alone. The house is about to get very, very quiet, and very very empty.
He's also replaying the day he brought his mom to a (kinda shitty) nursing home in Virginia so his mom could be closer to his sister. His mom said "You mean, I'm never going to see my little house again?" And that damn near killed my dad in 1991 when that happened.
And even though Mom is kinda excited to go (again, as she understands what is happening), Dad is wracked with guilt.