And We Wait...

I can't describe the feeling we have as we sit here and wait. It's surreal, and it's excruciating. The need to be here is overwhelming, but as time passes, the need for it to be over also becomes overwhelming. There has been no normal for about two weeks, but especially for the last week. No set meal times, no real groceries in my house, no sleep to speak of, and certainly no comfort, because it just goes on and on...to the point where my sisters and I are asking each other how it could possible still not be happening and what day it is.

My dad is falling apart. He both needs it to be over and doesn't want it to be, although he could never verbalize that. Tonight he said to me, "I just don't know what I'm going to do without her." I wanted to say, "But, you're already doing it." And he is...there is very little of her left here with us at this point. At least, I hope there is. Sometimes the doubt sets in, and I wonder if her thought processes are clear but her body won't let her communicate them. She's responsive, but barely, and her responses become harder and harder to make out as the hours pass. From a list of "symptoms" of the dying process given to us by hospice (and which seems to be pretty standard, from my poking around on the internet), we have determined that it could be hours or (still) days left before she passes, and as terrible as I think it sounds, at this point, we all need it to be hours.

So, as midnight quickly approaches again, I'm torn between staying here and holding the vigil, with the possibility that nothing happens, or going home to be with James and Andrew and get some rest. If I stay, nothing happens, and if I leave, all hell breaks loose...in my head, at least. I know my decision has no effect on it either way, but it's weighing heavily on my mind.