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Sep. 22nd, 2004 11:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thejunipertreeWell, it's all moved and installed on top of the dresser. In my sudden burst of manic energy, it didn't take me long at all.
Now I'm left feeling vaguely uneasy. It's not my space to be doing this in, it's still her bedroom. But I think this will do me a bit of good and in the unlikely event that she does come home, it can all be dismantled again.
Over the past few months, with me living out of her room and my altar remaining in my closet of a bedroom (or bedroom of a closet), I've been ungrounded. I went into my room very rarely; at first, it was just to do my makeup. But in an effort to make my morning routine more efficient, I moved all my makeup onto her vanity table. After that was done, the only time I went in there was to throw something on my bed (which is now covered in a small mountain of somethings) or to get a book I wanted.
It's not my full altar; I've removed Papa Legba, Erzulie Freda, Damballah, Erzulie Dantor and all of their accoutrements (my apologies to all, no offense intended, I just need to focus on other things at the moment). And the only beads, from the hoarde that Sabrina sent me so long ago from her Mardi Gras haul, are the purple ones. I may arrange the other lwa on my old altar in some semblence of order, just because it would make me feel better, but I'm not up to that tonight. Maybe tomorrow.
Looking at the Gede altar I just erected and the amount of dresser-top space it takes up, I'm completely amazed that I fit it and all of the others in the tiny space it used to be in. Granted, I bought some new things today but not very many. A small vase, four roses (two purple, two black), a wee black velvet armchair (which must be seen to be believed), and a skull (which sits in the armchair).
---
Today was a difficult visit with my mother. She seemed very alert, animated, more like her usual self. We would have small bits of conversation that could have been had two months ago, but then she would dissolve into nonsensical rambling. I hurt my arm a little while trying to pull her into a better position and she reacted to my small involuntary pain-noise, which I can't even remember the last time something like that happened.
She also argued with me about taking her home, something which has happened before. I've explained to her, time and patient time again, that I can't possibly take care of her at the apartment. That even if we had a twenty-four hour nurse with us, it still couldn't be done. She doesn't understand, or refuses to, and thinks that she can take care of herself.
Every reason I give for the impossibility of her coming home sounds so lame coming out of my mouth and every time I speak of it, I feel like a terrible and selfish daughter. But everyone in the family agrees with me, the hospital agrees with me, the nursing home agrees with me, and the hospice agrees with me. I would have thought that hospice wouldn't, since they can do their job no matter where the patient is, but the one nurse I've developed a rapport with told me that it's better for Mom to be somewhere where people can tend to her around the clock. They only give twenty-four hour nursing under dire or unusual circumstances, this not qualifying as either (no matter how it feels to me).
I momentarily feel better whenever they tell me I'm doing the right thing (which they assure me of every time we speak), but the second I see her in her hospital bed, all those reassurances fly right out the window. I want her to be able to come home, even if it is to die, but I cannot possibly handle her being here.
My hands are tied and it sucks.
Now I'm left feeling vaguely uneasy. It's not my space to be doing this in, it's still her bedroom. But I think this will do me a bit of good and in the unlikely event that she does come home, it can all be dismantled again.
Over the past few months, with me living out of her room and my altar remaining in my closet of a bedroom (or bedroom of a closet), I've been ungrounded. I went into my room very rarely; at first, it was just to do my makeup. But in an effort to make my morning routine more efficient, I moved all my makeup onto her vanity table. After that was done, the only time I went in there was to throw something on my bed (which is now covered in a small mountain of somethings) or to get a book I wanted.
It's not my full altar; I've removed Papa Legba, Erzulie Freda, Damballah, Erzulie Dantor and all of their accoutrements (my apologies to all, no offense intended, I just need to focus on other things at the moment). And the only beads, from the hoarde that Sabrina sent me so long ago from her Mardi Gras haul, are the purple ones. I may arrange the other lwa on my old altar in some semblence of order, just because it would make me feel better, but I'm not up to that tonight. Maybe tomorrow.
Looking at the Gede altar I just erected and the amount of dresser-top space it takes up, I'm completely amazed that I fit it and all of the others in the tiny space it used to be in. Granted, I bought some new things today but not very many. A small vase, four roses (two purple, two black), a wee black velvet armchair (which must be seen to be believed), and a skull (which sits in the armchair).
---
Today was a difficult visit with my mother. She seemed very alert, animated, more like her usual self. We would have small bits of conversation that could have been had two months ago, but then she would dissolve into nonsensical rambling. I hurt my arm a little while trying to pull her into a better position and she reacted to my small involuntary pain-noise, which I can't even remember the last time something like that happened.
She also argued with me about taking her home, something which has happened before. I've explained to her, time and patient time again, that I can't possibly take care of her at the apartment. That even if we had a twenty-four hour nurse with us, it still couldn't be done. She doesn't understand, or refuses to, and thinks that she can take care of herself.
Every reason I give for the impossibility of her coming home sounds so lame coming out of my mouth and every time I speak of it, I feel like a terrible and selfish daughter. But everyone in the family agrees with me, the hospital agrees with me, the nursing home agrees with me, and the hospice agrees with me. I would have thought that hospice wouldn't, since they can do their job no matter where the patient is, but the one nurse I've developed a rapport with told me that it's better for Mom to be somewhere where people can tend to her around the clock. They only give twenty-four hour nursing under dire or unusual circumstances, this not qualifying as either (no matter how it feels to me).
I momentarily feel better whenever they tell me I'm doing the right thing (which they assure me of every time we speak), but the second I see her in her hospital bed, all those reassurances fly right out the window. I want her to be able to come home, even if it is to die, but I cannot possibly handle her being here.
My hands are tied and it sucks.
