They call our stage of life the sandwich generation; and we're pretty much the turkey on the bread. I'm here, resting in bed, listening, via baby monitor, as my senile mother putters around her room. It's harder than even I thought to be yelled at one second, told, "I'm going to kill you!" and then the next second, to be receiving a hug and a kiss and an "I love you." (Make up your mind, all ready!) I even asked, "How would you kill me?" just to see how developed this plan could possibly be in her mind that can't hold a thought for a second. She replied, "I don't know, but I'll find a way!" and the next second, I'm leaning (gingerly) over her to tuck her in bed and give her a good night kiss. (Well, getting one, always with the complaint, "Let me get your hair out of the way!)
Tomorrow hospice people come and see if she would qualify for that support. Next stop for her will be a nursing facility. It will be a hard to see her go there, but I guess I value my sanity just a little bit. Looking ahead, if I'm ever this difficult and out of it, my dear children, go ahead and put me in a nursing home, especially if there's a way to pay for it!
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