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She wasn't lucid today.  They have her on a morphine drip, and I think that's the cause of her lack of coherency, moreso than the lack of oxygen support.  I got down there later than I wanted, but I actually got to sleep last night and didn't spring right out of bed this morning.  Also, it was icy up by me, and letting it warm up some seemed prudent.  So I got another load of laundry done and got the dishwasher unloaded.

I'm not sure she realized when I got there.  Dad was there, and we stayed for several more hours.  She never really came all the way out of it while I was there.  Erica stopped by for a little while, but I'm not sure mom realized she was there.  I feel kind of bad that she came all the way down, but it was kind of her.  Bob and Charlotte stopped in on their way home from Mudthaw.  I sent them home fairly quickly - Charlotte being there has been making mom very happy, but again - I'm not sure she knew.  If it wasn't going to bring mom any pleasure, I didn't want to risk freaking Charlotte out.  I don't mind her remembering that Grandma was in the hospital and very sick before she died, but I don't want it to have been a horror show.  She's only eight.  But she got to see Grandma again without all the tubes and wires.  Obviously I won't take her back.

Judging by how the nurses were with her, had I more aggressively tried to wake her, she might have acknowledged Charlotte.  But it didn't seem kind, or worth it.

Her one lucid moment for the afternoon was when she said "Why are you still here?"  It appeared that her distress level was as much from dad and I being there as anything else.  So we headed home.  If I'm honest, we're not there for her.  Dad is there because where else would he be?  I'm there because I can't leave him to sit there by himself.  We talk around things, and leave the room to cry.  It's all very stoic.  It's what we do.  The person I went to with tears was mom.

I also think that she is actually getting better care when we're *not* there.  When we were there, the nurses (who are all *fabulous,* by the way) would ask us what we wanted them to do.  More morphine?  Less?  Something else?  We don't know.  When we're not there, they use their professional know-how and do what needs to be done without worrying about deferring to the family.

Dad has probably gone back tonight - he said he might.

He has some doctor's appointments of his own tomorrow, so I'll go down for while he's tied up.  I'd say that I don't think she'll make it through the night, but I thought that last night.  On one hand, this is a terrible way to end.  On the other hand, my grandmother had dementia, back before that's what we called it.  Watching her mind go was far more painful than watching my mother's body fail.  But there is still nothing good about it.  The nurses are amazing, and gentle, and compassionate.  But they can't overcome the plain fact that for all the work we've done and will continue to do to learn how to prolong life, there's been precious little (by comparison) given to how to manage the inevitable end.

And all of that philosophy aside, when it comes right down to it, I'm just a girl who wants her mother.  I keep getting hung up on all the things that I haven't gotten around to doing yet that now she'll never see.

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