No More Tears

I'm not talking about baby shampoo; I'm talking about me.

You would think the human body could only hold so many tears. In my case, that is not true. I've got the super duper tear-producing machinery. I cannot seem to dry up.

The mother-in-law is being moved to Hospice today. Her vitals are screwy and her toxicity levels are escalating at an alarming rate. She may have hours; she may have days. The doctors recommend (and we agree) that we have reached the point of no return. We're not trying to get her back. She just needs to be comfortable.

Hangdog only knows a portion of this. He knows she's in the hospital. He knows she is not doing well. Tomorrow morning, we will pick him up at the Home and drive him to the Hospice for their final visit. (Well, their final one here.) Our friend and family doctor is going with us because frankly, we're terrified he may stroke out.

One of the brothers is probably on his way here. He only lives about four hours away. I don't know if he's bringing his wife or five children. We've spent countless hours on the phone and it's just a little past noon.

So, I'm changing sheets, washing towels and crying.

I keep going in the dungeon and then forgetting why I'm in there. Then it came to me. I must figure out what she would want to be buried in. I sat on the floor and cried. Then, as I always do, I called my parents. "What outfit did you think she looked the prettiest in?"

The husband is holding up. His tear ducts are working quite well also. But, he's better when he's busy and there is lots to do.

Do you know the laws and regulations that accompany shipping a body? Neither do I. But, I'm learning. Especially difficult if you have to cross several state lines. Their family plot is in southern Mississippi and there is not an airport. So we've sort of moved into planes, trains and automobile territory. (I'm reminded of that scene in National Lampoon's Vacation, where they strapped Aunt Edna on top of the car.) So I laugh for a minute and then I sob and hiccup like a baby with colic.

I'm tempted to go buy some of that baby shampoo that promises "No More Tears." Instead, I will probably crawl on the dog pillow.