Mom's body is shriveling up as her excess pounds melt away. Until she started to fail, she had carried a lifetime of the weight of a person who loved to eat - the richer and fattier the better. Grey Goose vodka, fried pork rinds, Russell Stover's nutty, chewy and crispy chocolates were among her favorites. But, since she started down the path of getting ready to leave the world, she has lost and failed and quit — little by little by little. I think of her losing weight, fading away as being like death caused by a thousand paper cuts. She has not opened her eyes in months. Since Mom lost her vision to the double whammy of macular degeneration and glaucoma, she has not even bothered to try to see. She is permanently closed for business. Her hearing comes and goes. Mostly it is gone. When I try to have a conversation with her, it’s probably just as challenging for her as it is for me. She shouts back what she thought I said — usually a twisted jumble that’s about 75% right. I repeat so she understands; but is a tiresome routine until she finally grasps all of the words and the meaning intended. So, our conversations have also become thin - just like her shrinking body. It’s just too hard to really fill her in on what’s going on in the world’s headline news, or even the details of our family updates beyond the superficial. As her senses of sight and hearing depart, so has her verve and her spunk. She can’t take in much of life and the world, so if she can’t have it, she may as well shut it out. That’s what she has decided to do when she says she’s ready to go. It’s just that her body is still cranking along, without direction, without purpose, and without her wanting it to.
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