The Hardest Thing to Do
It's been seven years, this week, since I began taking care of Edna. It's been seven years that I've known it was a "short term" arrangement. For seven years I've walked into her bedroom, in the morning, listening for sounds. For seven years, I've wiped her butt, lotioned her body, cheered her on in her endeavors. Seven years later I love this woman. And the hardest thing to do is watch her die.
She's dying. Rather slowly, but nevertheless, very soon. We're all praying to makes it through Christmas.
I'll be able to say goodbye in the end. I'm very good with goodbyes. It's a closed chapter or the end of a cherished book, and I'll have fond memories.
But this watching of this beloved lady diminish day by day? I can barely hold back the tears to give her a smiling face. I must and I do.
But, dammit, it's sooooooooo hard.