Update 6

"Pizza time!" - Mom, after taking liquid morphine, which tastes terrible. 

You know, one of my consolations for this situation is that, because Mom was taken off of a lot of her treatments for a short while, her taste buds came back with a bang. I clearly remember overhearing her on the phone one day a month or so ago while she told a friend how food now tastes just wonderful. And after all those months of skewed flavors from those horrible poisons I'm just thankful she was able to really enjoy and savor her food before she was unable to eat anything at all.

This morning began with Dad coming up to the kitchen to get some of his pills and then looking down into the family room to find mom standing on her own trying to cover herself with Dad's comforter to sit on her new potty chair. You know, when you have to go you have to go! Dad got down there quick, especially when we saw her trip over the comforter and stumble against the bed. Otherwise she has been semi-alert all day, talking and actually finishing sentences. When I came downstairs to get my headphones so I could concentrate on my work she said my name and when I looked she waved at me. Brought tears to my eyes. 

Dad said her pain is a little higher today and we've actually been giving her liquid morphine, which we didn't do much of yesterday. But otherwise it's been fun. Our good friend Chelsea, whom we all consider part of the family during this crisis, arrived from Florida today and most of us spent the entire afternoon down in the family room playing Scrabble and reading online pop-culture trivia from the late '70s. I won Scrabble for the first time in a long time, and when Anne was announcing it Mom said "Actually, I won," as Dad helped her back into bed from the bathroom. We have no idea what she meant, but it was funny. 

Over the past few days Jennie has been fixing and restoring an old rocking chair that belonged to my great-great grandfather or something. It's a chair we have had for as long as I can remember. Mom rocked every single one of us to sleep in it, and it has been broken for a very long time. Last night she finally finished it, and during one of the moments when mom was up walking past she decided she wanted to sit in it. And we took a picture. 

We are all aware of the reality of our situation. It's something we can't change, can't escape, and yet we pray continually for a miracle. As I read all of the posts friends and family have posted on Mom's group wall I wish that I had more time to get to know her better. However, it also brings to mind something I heard once in a movie. 

The night before he "departs", Mr. Magorium, of Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium, tells Molly Mahoney about how Shakespeare described the death of King Lear. He wrote, "He died."

          "That's all, nothing more. No fanfare, no metaphor, no brilliant final words. The culmination of the most influential work of dramatic literature is "He dies." It takes Shakespeare, a genius, to come up with "He dies." And yet every time I read those two words, I find myself overwhelmed with dysphoria. And I know it's only natural to be sad, but not because of the words "He dies." but because of the life we saw prior to the words.  I've lived all five of my acts, Mahoney, and I am not asking you to be happy that I must go. I'm only asking that you turn the page, continue reading... and let the next story begin. And if anyone asks what became of me, you relate my life in all its wonder, and end it with a simple and modest "He died." "

 My mom has led a beautiful life. And through everything she did, all the people she touched, the plays she was in, her beautiful voice and her amazing testimony she will continue to live, even when she's gone, in our memories and in our hearts. We WILL see her again someday, and we will join her at the breakfast table in paradise.