I had a wonderful weekend in Chicago with my 3 younger children and my oldest daughter, her husband and their baby, Guthrie. I got to babysit - yay! Except poor little Guthrie won't take a bottle, he just wants his mommy's booby. So we had a few tragic hours when he was sure he had been abandoned to his heartless, empty-boobied grandma. But when Mommy reappeared there was rejoicing in babyland!
More about Chicago later.
On Sunday morning in Chicago I received a phone call from my brother - our mother had had a massive stroke and they didn't think she would survive. We drove home to Grinnell, I talked with my sister, and on Monday my sister and I started driving toward Texas. Tremendous thunderstorms all the way down through Missouri on Monday. Hot, hot, hot on Tuesday. We arrived at my mother's house late Tuesday afternoon.
So now there is more to do than I understand. I am angry, sad, confused, helpless. Mother is coherent, sad, angry, funny, depressed. She gave us instructions for her funeral : no sadness, no hymns, only music by the Tijuana Brass. Pitchers of margaritas, chips and salsa. She told us what she wants on her tombstone and started to cry. "I loved to dance," she said.
But she could survive many more years - just paralyzed on her left side. No painting, no dancing, no walks in the park. I asked about wheelchairs and the neurologist said, probably not. I don't understand. I don't know what to hope for.
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