For people in our early 50s, we've experienced little loss of family.
Our grandparents have all passed away, of course, but we still have our four parents. Mine have been married for 56 years, and Ron's for 53 years. Happily, best-friend married. It's so good, its almost 1950s goofy.
Tonight, though, Ron's 76 year old mother lies in intensive care, kept in a coma while attached to a respirator, most of her body numbed from a continuous epidural. The surgeon removed part of her infected lung today.
She'd been frail for months....in truth, for several years. She survived the surgery, but recovery will be slow and long. And hard. She'll probably need an oxygen tank. No one has said this out loud, but I wonder if she'll need a wheelchair.
Ron's father isn't sure he's capable of taking care of her. His uncommunicative dad now calls every night, and talks to Ron for an hour, maybe more. He's scared.
I told Ron maybe we should fly up there over the long July 4th weekend. He said it was too early...she needs to rest and gain strength. We'll go later.
Honey, I softly said. Maybe we should go sooner.
He looked in my eyes, then turned away and looked at a lamp.