Day 7/8

Two and a half hours of non-consecutive sleep. 150 minutes. 9000 seconds.

It's not enough for a normal person to function.

But I'm not in a normal situation.

Lola2Amara was in tremendous pain. So her nurse suggested admitting her to inpatient hospice for a few days.

I had many misconceptions about hospice prior to this week.

I assumed all hospice care was at a facility. Who knew it could be in a patient's home as well?

I thought hospice meant "end of life." But I was told by Lola2Amara's nurse that she knows of patients that lived a year, two, maybe even three. But I also think she was just saying that to make me feel better.

So when I walked into Mom's new "home" for the next week, I was flooded with a plethora of emotions. I immediately hear a patient moaning from his room. It screamed nursing home to me. I peered through cracked doors to find patients, seemingly in vegetative states.

This is not my mom.

Mom may be dying. But Mom can walk with assistance. She never makes a peep, not even when she's in the greatest pain.

But then I began to truly comprehend what hospice is. A nurse came and stroke Mom's hair while they did her evaluation. Despite the hospital bed, Mom's room felt warm (but hardly inviting, mind you). The facility had an open visitation policy. I could stay for as long as I wanted.

And I did.

But I think my lack of sleep is making me more emotional. I cannot control when the tears will strike. I find myself talking to my deceased Grandmother, asking her to comfort Mom now. And when Mom's with her in Heaven. I cry talking to friends, coworkers when they simply say Mom's name.

I don't want this. I didn't ask for my mother to leave my daughter at such a young age. I didn't ask for