“Tell all those people,” she said this morning from the hospital bed in the music room in our home, “that we had a chair set out for them for a visit. But that’s all not going to happen now.”
Jeannie’s condition changed on Thursday the 25th of June. Quiet in the morning, she’d asked for extra sedative to help her rest. After her nap she got quite dizzy in the bathtub. Garbled speech. Confusion. She did not recognize any of us.
Last night after I helped her eat her favourite dessert – root beer and ice cream float – she looked at me and said, “You are flirty, flirty, flirty!” Though she did not know who I was she pursed her lips and demanded a kiss.
This morning she knew our names. What a relief. But the confusion continues. She’s most lucid just after a sleep, but talks almost non-stop. Our confusion seems silly to her at times.
This morning she told me to write this blog, today. To tell you not to worry.
“I don’t think it matters that they will get information that’s grief laden,” she said, then breaking into a smile she continued, “it’s okay…. They will be stepping away,” from the grief, she said through broken thoughts.
You will have each other. Grief will diminish.
But for now, just hold onto the idea that there is a chair or two – three if someone wants to sit on the commode – in Jeannie’s hospice space here in our home. Visits are over, of course, but she wants you to know she is thinking of you. Loving each and every one of you. In her way.
Listen to the song Love by Joni Mitchell if you want to know what she listens to three times in a row as she falls off into a nap or evening sleep.
David, for Jeannie and Annie too