Tomorrow I have the hair appointment that's supposed to get me through the next seven weeks, and I managed to snag a pedi and waxing appointment for Saturday. We want to visit both granddaughters again this weekend, but most importantly, we're confronting all the sadness around my father-in-law being admitted to hospice after a rapid decline last week, the conflict my husband feels about saying good-bye. At this point, Paul still plans to come with me on Sunday, but we'll see. . .* And I know. That announcement should not have followed my laundry and mail and pedi and waxing lists, but such is the state of my mental and emotional jumble right now. There is an apprehension that if I let myself go "there" for very long, I will too easily get stuck. My loss of my mother is still too fresh, my bucket a bit too low. . . So I concentrate on what I can do, even if it might be superficial. . .
*I want to add that much as I appreciate your comments, Paul's decision of whether or not to fly on Sunday is such a personal one that I hope you will not exhort him to stay at his father's side. I will just say that he has always had a very good relationship with his dad, has been as good a son as any parent could want, and that he is as reconciled to his father's death as one might expect, given age and the depredations of cancer. And those of us who have been through similar circumstances know well that one can wait and wait by a bedside for weeks only to have a loved one slip away as soon as we're gone. . .