I have been trying for months to write about saying goodbye to Margret. The task has defeated me. Either I start crying and have to leave off writing, or I am not satisfied with what I have written. Or else what I have written seems OK, but I wasn't ready to share what I wrote.
There have been many attempts, many almost successes.
Over time my mantra for Margret's care evolved into "the best quality of life with the least invasive treatments". Because there comes a time where you are no longer doing things FOR a person, but you are doing things TO them. That's what the doctor said when Margret collapsed, and he wanted to know what measures we wanted taken on her behalf.
We all got a reprieve when she sat up and talked to her sisters the following day.
He had put into words my worst fear: that there comes a time when there is no more hope. Hope is gone, and soon to follow are the smiles, the joy, the wicked sense of humor, the courage, the adventurous spirit that said, "I want to see Ricky Martin perform live. I want to go on a cruise."
The hardest part, I think, is facing down the day that my hopes died, and then having to do it all over again. Every attempt to write about it brings that sorrow back full force.