Not much has changed since last night. Mom’s not worsening, just very very weak. I’m tired, slept poorly last night and spent much of the day full of dread. Work provided some distraction, but there’s some event planning that I can’t bring myself to do. Julie the Cruise Director, I’m not.
So I’m just checking in by phone occassionally to Lee or whichever friend is over at the house. I cancelled plans to stay home in case they need to reach me, which I’m happy I did since I’m pretty much good for nothing at the moment.
Have I said that I can’t cry on my own? I need the catharsis of television to do that for me; i.e. I cried tonight watching an old Annie Lennox performance on SNL, and then later when Jimmy Smitts character died at the hospital in NYPD Blue reruns. Thank God I’m not home when Oprah comes on, I’d lose any semblance of integrity then.
Needless to say, I haven’t composed any words for Mom’s expected service, nor have I come across the perfect poem to read. I just don’t want to.