Another leg of this journey has ended

I didn't sleep last night.

I kept writing my mother's eulogy in my head. (Yes, I am going to attempt it and pray to God I do it without losing my composure. Kim's really worried about this ... )

And I'm wondering what Mom's doing. What's her favorite thing about Heaven? Is it even possible to have a favorite thing? Did she get to hear, "Well done, thy good and faithful servant" yet? And how does that happen? And how did she feel? I can only imagine.

As most of you know by now, my mother died yesterday at approximately 3:33 — or maybe it was 3:35 — when the school bell rang. We all thought that was appropriate. For my intelligent mom — the lifelong educator and student — her learning is over, and now she can rest and rejoice and relax and never worry about anything or anyone again.

What a relief and a blessing. But how sad for us. Going home to see her things has broken my heart all over again.

And what a crazy, crazy week we've had. As with Mom's first major stroke (her second stroke), all of our attention was focused on my dad's illness. We knew the probability of another bleed for my mom existed, but I suppose we were all shocked by how soon it happened. My theory is that her heart was already broken by her limitations and the reality of losing my dad. She just wasn't going to be left behind, and I don't blame her.

When we went to hospice last Wednesday after the night in the ER, my dad was in good shape physically. The first night there, however, he had a pain crisis, so they put him on an IV pain drip. The really hard stuff because we discovered his allergy to morphine.

Then, he had three really good days, so he was weaned back onto oral meds. And then, he had some really bad ones as my mother's death became nearer. Frankly, my family and the BSA Hospice staff were quite baffled as to whether my dad was going to pull through enough to go back home with us. That's how quickly his health deteriorated while we were there. We had begun to think he was going to go with my mom. It was somewhat logical thinking because my mom kept hanging on, long past what the medical staff believed she "should" have.

But Dad woke up yesterday with a good day. He was able to sit with all of us and hold my mom's hand while she passed. When it was over, he wanted nothing more than to get the heck out of there and come home, so my family took him home. I had already left to get Mom appropriate burial clothes. She is so tiny now that none of her clothes fit. (She is now exactly the size she was in high school and when my parents married.) And I wanted a Childress Bobcat blue dress that matches her eyes. I found it. (Don't worry, though ... open caskets are banned in my family with threats of future hauntings.)

Last night, we were together as a family — although I did my typical isolating thing. I don't know why I do that. It's just my reaction to grief, I think. It's hard to be around everyone when I'm trying to get myself together. I wrote my mother's obituary, Dorsey got her picture ready, and we tried to further complete funeral planning.

We are meeting with Brad Boxwell this morning at 9.

It's all so very fast.

Services will be at 11:30 a.m. Saturday at Hillside Christian Church's main campus chapel.