How we are.

My mom is leaving RIC today. She's moving to Presbyterian Homes, Westminster Place in Evanston. After many different tours to many different types of places, this one won over the rest. It might not be the most swank accommodations, but both my dad and Dee felt as though the level of care is the best and that all of the residents seemed happy. It also happens to be fairly close to home so my dad will be able to spend a good amount of time there, which I'm sure will not only make my mom happy, but also my dad.

Many of you have asked how my dad is doing. Well, he's beyond the need to be checked into the ER for panic attacks, so he's got that going for him. But as many of you can attest to, my mom is quite a life force and that force has been in jeopardy for the last 2 months - he's faced with that every single day. Grief is an interesting thing. Entirely unpredictable. First off, you never know how you're going to grieve, but I can assure you that it's not like you think you would. There are lots of moments of grief and from my experience and my dad's experience I can say that the moments change quickly and often. Obviously, there's sadness - those moments when you remember that she's still a stroke victim and this road is undefined and never ending. And sure you can say "but at least," but that phrase means nothing when you're not in a moment of hope. And hope-moments become fewer and farther between. Not because things aren't going well, but because as things get better it becomes more and more obvious that things will never be the same. Seems cruel really, doesn't it? And then there's straight up stroke rage. It's a term coined by my absolutely amazing boss. Her husband was diagnosed with Stage IV neck cancer years ago and after quite the struggle he made it through. It's a heroing story that I will never be able to do justice to, but one of the results is something she calls her "cancer rage". It's the anger you feel when you just can't cope with it anymore. When you're just over it. When you've had enough of life being so damn unfair. It's when you've worn out every other coping mechanism that is getting you through the day and all you have left is straight up rage. I'm not sure which thing my dad is feeling at this exact moment, but I assure you it's one of those.

I know many of you struggle for what to say or what to do. Trust me, so do I. Unfortunately, as far as I know there isn't really a right thing. I thought a lot about this post before writing it. I'm not writing this to make anyone feel badly about asking "how are you". I'm thankful that you ask and that you care. I don't think any of us could get through this without knowing there were so many people who are out there just trying to help. I'm writing this to answer your question in the most honest way possible, because the truth is that we're not OK, we just are.

I don't really have any other info about Westminster yet. It's another Blue Cross Blue Shield situation meaning that every week they reassess and send to insurance. Then we cross our fingers that she gets to stay a bit longer and continues to get better.