If this goes on...

...everyone's favorite SFnal trope, as applied to Real Life™. Dad is sinking, but sinking slowly. While he's pulling away from us lucidity-wise, and isn't eating enough to keep a wasp alive, his vitals are still strong. Last night and this morning he actually sat up for a while--although no one was comfortable with letting him get to his feet. That tired him out so much that he's been sleeping all afternoon (which is good; he's been increasingly restless, wanting to get up and go to the dining room, usually at midnight, for his social meal of the day).

Other than making an inventory of stuff and where it is supposed to go if/when, and occasionally answering the phone, I'm not being of my use here. Meanwhile, my kith and kin at home (particularly Avocado) are wanting me home with increasing want. So I've decided I'm flying home on Saturday. If things change I can always change the flight (thank you, Southwest), but for now, I really ought to be where I can be the most useful. Dad's in good hands; my brother is staying here, the aides are wonderful, hospice is wonderful, and the people at Kimball Farms are wonderful (and love him a lot). I'm just one bit of a large tapestry that is enveloping him, and I think, at this point, that he has internalized my love and appreciation.

And I do miss my husband, my kids, my dog, and my own bed.