And that's the way it is . . .

Whoda thunk that Walter Cronkite's signature closing line would be so new-thought, so ahead of it's time? I enjoyed watching the special on CBS tonight chronicling Cronkite' amazing broadcast career. I think he would have been a wonderful presidential candidate if he had been willing to give up journalism.

Well, the way it is for me is surreal.
I am in Los Angeles tonight. I rented a car--a spunky little Saturn Ion-- I drove up to see my Mother in an attempt to explain to her that we are beginning the process of Hospice for her tomorrow. My mom's health took a downward turn on Sunday and has continued to decline. Therefore, this week, I had to I had to cancel my trip to Taos for the UCORS Convocation. As difficult as that choice was, it freed me up to look at some hard facts and then take it to prayer to do some deep inner work. I also reached out for prayer and some professional advice (thank you). My decision prompted by the doctor's medical assessment, sent me into a process of inquiry that most of us do not have to address. I think the process was integral to getting onto the other side, so I could be clear, compassionate and courageous enough to agree to hospice for a person I love--and to do it long distance. Hence, my need to return to L.A. again so quickly. Tomorrow, the Hospice counselor meets us at the nursing home to guide us through the next phases.

Before walking to the nursing home tonight, I did some prayers (that felt flat) and then took a brief nap. I tapped into the witness mode I used to use so intensely as an actress, as I observed how I was feelng and moving through each step. I noticed that I was in a bit of denial as I walked into a few local stores to browse on the way. As numb as I felt, I was also keenly aware of the world around me. People watching, looking at the most minute of details. There was an interesting flyer on a telephone pole that caught my eye: "Lost My Heart"-- the flyer went on to say that this person lost his/her heart and wondered if you found it to please send an e-mail to ____.It seemed genuine and naive. A few blocks later, there was another flyer on phone poles at the corner of Fairfax and Melrose with the big, bold print "Used Rubber Fist For Sale". As curious as I was, I did not want to read the fine print on this flyer, nor did I take one of the little tear-offs with a phone number.

Once I got to Mom's room, any fear, concern or guilt about my decision was gone. Mom was less than lucid but at least she still recognized me. It was difficult to see her so feeble. I tried to show her a photo of where the wedding will be and tell her aobut my dress but it only confused her. All she wanted to do was sleep and told me she could not talk to me right now. I knew I had to tell her what was going to happen before I could leave. I had to modify my lanuage and use simple words and ideas and it still was troublesome for her. I brushed her hair and stroked her head. She kept falling asleep during sentences, so I decided to pray anyway. She popped awake to ask if she could go home. I told her that no, she was too sick to go back to her apartment. "What if I could get better?" No, Mom, we've tried that but your body has different plans. Mom, we're on the home stretch. You can get ready to go home to God now. Once again, she fell asleep. So I kissed her goodnight and told her that I would be back bright and early tomorrow.

Perhaps she will be more alert in the morning. And I am counting on the Hospice rep to be so skilled in all this and I will follow her lead. I am praying for clear guidance and peace of mind.

A walking void, I stopped at Genghis Cohen for some take-out chinese food. I ordered vegetable lo mein--which turned out to be very lo on the veggies, although quite tasty. My body felt heavy and tired. I found comfort in turning on the baseball game--the Dodgers vs. the Angels. I didn't watch the game, I listened to the soothing, dulcet tones of Vin Scully. Ah, nothing like it. I have grown quite fond of Mudd and Matt for the Padres but it takes two of them to call a game and they still miss most of the plays. Yet, Vin Scully does it all by himself with such panache.

Even with scads of things to tend to here at Mom's apartment, I did not have what it takes to do work in starting to pack up and clear out her apartment. I have yet to call the landlord to tell them; nor the tenants. After all, tomorrow is another day.
And...that's the way it is. Good night.