Today's Meditation: Still planning the funeral.  Reading some Cicero On Grief . I'm not sure if it's the translation (I only have the one at the moment) but I really dislike the parts I read today. I'll add more info tomorrow. Toniggt, to sleep. Perchance to dream.

Today's Meditation: "I'm not going to die." I don't know if she believed it, if she said it to comfort us as we stood beside her hospital bed, or if she was trying to convince herself it was true. I knew she was wrong. I knew it was a matter of time, a desperately short time, before her lungs gave out and she would pass. I knew there was no hope. And I hear her say that everyday. Any time I'm not actively doing something . . . "I'm not going to die" erupts again in my mind. Did she realize that we believed she was going to die? Did that fill her with fear? Despair? Was she hurt by our inability to believe her? We said we did. We said it was a matter of getting better. We knew we were lying. I fear she did, too, and that she felt abandoned by the people she loved, who loved her, who were there to spend her last moments with her. I am terrified that she felt betrayed. I am petrified that she felt I gave up on her. And that kills me.

Today's Meditation: I can snivel and whine. Or I can get busy in my own salvation. I can sleep. Or I can get up and do the things a himan should do. I can withdraw. Or I can lean on my support when I am overburdened. I can avoid and pretend. Or I can face reality. I can be kind. I can focus on others. I can use my reason and follow Nature. I can work with what I have. I can be here now. I can get through. I can survive. I can do be live strive attempt. I can be kind.

Today's Meditation: I can't control my thoughts. I can't control my impulses. I can't control my environment. I can influence my thoughts. Use pattern interruption to short-circuit loops. Use perspective to put things in their proper place. I can wait. I can delay. I can refuse to re act and act instead. I can block. I can move. I can avoid those who would drag me down or tempt me. I can adjust my attitude and accept what is while working to change it.

Today's Meditation(s): The locusts got Christmas today as my family descended upon my parents' house to begin putting it in order. Tge house went from festive wonderland to pedestrian container in a couple of hours. My mom would have told us stories about every ornament, every nativity, every nutcracker, every angel, every stocking, every Santa. She knew everything.

Today's Meditation(s): The Pocket Thich Nhat Hanh (ed. By Melvin McLeod), Walking with Your Parents I walk with my mother all the time. In my attitudes. In my thoughts. In my relationships. In my talents. In my interests. In my habits. In my life. In all that I am.

Today's Meditation(s): It's the loss that bothers. The loss of stories. The loss of history. The loss of memories and traditions. The loss of ever getting more. The loss of a light in this wilderness.

Today's Meditation(s): Meditations, 4.49 (Long) We can train. We can prepare. We can stock up. We can rehearse in our minds what we need to do. This will not be enough.  ~ Daily Stoic 260120

Today's Meditation(s): Mom died today. Like a party guest not wanting to overstay her welcome, she has moved on to the next adventure. With dad and J. I don't know what to do. Any time I needed to know how a person should act, if I wanted to know how to be human and to care for someone, I thought of her. When I think about her, and what she was to me, she gave me the best example of how to love others and how genuinely care, to put them first and give of myself. She taught me this. I wish I'd learned the lesson better. She was even mom to my friends. Friends without moms of their own to count on or to love them, she was there. Took them in. Gave them a place in her heart. At least her pain is over. She's at peace. It's all I've got.

Today's Meditation(s): Meditations, 4.48 (Hicks and Hicks) As my mother lay dying. I sit here, wondering why I'm looking up game time (7 PM) instead of holding her hand, as I have been before. Wondering if we try to convince her to allow a procedure she (wrongly) fears and which could save her life. And if we do try, how do I convince her? She's strong-willed. And I'll never have a more important persuasion job. Know your audience. Get feelings leaning our way and rationale will follow. Make her, and her input, feel heard and valued. Fuck me. My mom is dying. Damnit.