Opposite Coasts

Part of the reason the husband and I were trying to steal a little time last night is that we are headed to opposite coasts next week. We've got to coordinate some time with baby while he's home on break and my rock & roll husband has two band gigs coming up this weekend. Throw in work issues and Hangdog ... well, we're trying to be a well-oiled machine. We're failing but don't we get credit for trying?

The husband is going on a business trip to California. Several of my girlfriends are going to Florida for a winter escape. I did not plan to attend but the husband has concluded I must go. Secretly, I think he's deciding between sending me on a girlfriend trip or visiting me in the nut house. (I am not making fun of mental illness.)

So, I will go to Florida for a few days. The husband will go to California. Hangdog will be in the Home. Hangdog will call me at least five times each day.

I'm taking books and lots of work stuff. I will never turn off my cell phone. I may fed ex the dog pillow to Florida. Curling up on it gives me a strange comfort.

Cross check and call forward. I'm out of here for a few days. Of course, I will still blog.

Let the Sunshine In

It is very important to the husband that we make some progress every day. Going through paperwork, sorting through the dungeon and making donations gives him a sense of accomplishment.

This is when I am certain we are a good match -- I would still be dragging the dog pillow from room to room and wallowing in my sadness. He needs action and it is helpful.

So, after countless hours, we have reorganized the father-in-law's things. We have sorted through most of the Belle's things. We've restored that bedroom and bathroom (it's still Hangdog's but it's also our guest room) to something other than a dungeon.

The draperies have been closed for more than two years. As a final touch, we opened the curtains and let a little sunshine in through the sheers.

It added some sun through the tears too.

Fighting over the Dog Pillow

Houseboy and his family took great care of my dog while we attended to family matters. He and his wife brought Gabby back today and the first thing she did was head for my office and her pillow. I suspect their dog gave her a little run for her money.

I am still weepy and emotional. I am also one of those weird people who likes dog smells. Puppy breath? Bring it on. I wanted to curl on the dog pillow and wallow in my sorrow.

So, I decided I would just put my head down for a second and reflect on the last few days. Like me, the dog is an only child (in this household) and she doesn't do the sharing thing well.

She pawed me and I kept saying, "Move over Fungus!" Then we fell asleep for 10 minutes or so.

I am used to sprawling with Big Daddy and griping about pillows and covers. I have reached a new arena. Gabby and I are wrestling for the dog pillow.

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.