Devon's grandmother passed away today after a long struggle with breast cancer. I knew her just under three years, but she made an impression. For our wedding party in her garden, she wore a floor-length ballgown with a matching wrap that suited her Southern-belle style perfectly. She was so sick even then, but she played the lady with all her soul. She welcomed me into her family with open arms, and for that I am grateful. We'll miss you, Marion. Thank you for touching our lives.
Also, Dad had another surgery yesterday to clear an intestinal blockage. The surgery went well (in other words, he survived it, and it accomplished what we hoped), but his kidneys took a beating, and he tested positive for MRSA, which could complicate matters. He's still heavily sedated, so the conversation was pretty one-sided, but the trip to Scranton was worth it to see him. Also, if I never see another DNR, I'll be happy. But Dad's tough. We've counted him out before.
Dad's been talking to dead people lately. My sister tells me that in his bedroom at night he calls the names of my mother and his dead siblings, then he laughs. Brain damage is the easiest (and most likely accurate) explanation, but I like to think they are surrounding him and giving him the kind of support we can't.
Allowing myself tiny fantasies makes things easier sometimes.