Sitting up with Mother
I think I feel rather numb, here at one thirty in the morning, sitting beside her bed in room 115 at the hospice. She has to be doped with morphene to be able to breathe without excessive pain. As it is, she is still moaning from some discomfort every minute or so. It was just thirty-some hours ago, five hundred miles away back home that I talked to her on the phone and heard the labored breathing and felt the fear under her usual desire for all us kids to come visit. She made light of it, as she often does, but she said it was important that we come talk to her. "Not that I'd have anything to say."
But twelve hours after that, word came. She had taken a turn for the worse. Maybe we should come. In the time it took to pack the car for a possibly indefinite stay and to drive from Hutto to Amarillo, we were no longer thinking in terms of years and months. Calculations about travel times for my brother in California have gotten much more critical. Will a day and a half from
now be too late?
Change of Schedule - Henry’s Stories has been on-line and regularly updated for almost two years now, with a mix of new and old stories -- some short and others novel length. ...
4 years ago