Friday, it looked like mrs. nemski’s mother, Grandma, had turned a corner and would be home in two weeks. I went to work on Monday content that mrs. nemski was feeling better, a bit more relaxed, worried, yet coming to terms with her mother’s illness. I shot her a quick email to remind her that I had guests coming over on Tuesday night. She thanked me (rather sarcastically) as she said she needed to get cleaning. With Grandma in the hospital, things around the house had begun to fall apart. We really tried to keep up with everything, but between trips to the hospital, making sure we ate, Christmas decorations still up in hopes of celebrating with Grandma, the dog shedding like a mutha-f#$%^er and trying to keep nemski jr. occupied and happy —the house was beginning to look like my old bachelor pad.
At 3 PM on Monday, the wife and I talked, and I discovered that Grandma would be coming home sometime on Wednesday. “Hospice,” mrs. nemski said. The code word had been spoken, it had been spoken before, but we both knew this would be Grandma’s last time home. I asked my wife how she was doing. “Fine, I guess,” she said repeating our eleven year-old’s daily response when asked how school was. Grandma doesn’t like a dirty house, so I joked that it was good that she got an early start cleaning. We laughed.
We still laugh.
Home by 5 PM and the first thing I noticed was that the Christmas tree had disappeared. This was not good. We hugged and my wife said that she would not be celebrating Christmas next year with her mother. There were tears and we hugged some more. Before she went off to check on the boy and his homework, I got my instructions on what had to be done. A quick call to my brother get some help moving some heavy furniture. He didn’t ask, he just came over.
Finally after a hideous dinner of some weak-ass lasagna my father made, we were done. They boy was put to bed and the wife and I held each other as we watched some mindless TV. I was exhausted and I had no idea how my wife could still function. Sleep came later for me, but not for mrs. nemski. Sometimes at night, her mind starts to race about things she cannot control and, quite frankly, they are usually silly things. What kept her up on Monday night through Tuesday morning? She was concerned that the hospital bed would not fit down the hallway. When she told me, I laughed and promptly got the look. Sometimes laughter is not the best medicine.
Tuesday morning I awoke to fearful weather forecasts blaring from the radio, so I decided to work from home. (If there was one job I would want to do, it would be to become a meteorologist — they’re hardly ever right and they still get paid.) I got a lot of work done, some of it good and some of it bad. We had some lunch and joked a bit. The bed and other assorted Hospice material was delivered. Yes, the bed made it easily down the hallway. I made no mention of this.
Tuesday night and the bad weather never arrived. The guests came over for some pizza and beer. mrs. nemski and nemski jr. hid themselves from the horror of these guests who did not linger long. We did some little things around the house and finally off to bed. I was hoping she would sleep.
The night befor her mother came home to die, my wife slept.