Lost and Found

After a long hard battle, my dad finally passed yesterday morning. We had spent a large part of the previous night at his bedside, went home to get a few hours of sleep and returned just moments before he let go. It was very emotional for Mom and me and for the nurses and aids who have cared so lovingly for him these last fifteen months.

I expected to feel a bigger sense of relief. Instead, I find I’m mourning all the little things that have slowly slipped away over the past two or three years. Thanks to that evil monster, Alzheimer’s disease, it’s been that long since my Dad was truly My Dad. At least two or three years. Maybe longer. I’ve been storing up the grief over lost moments for a long time and now they’re pouring out.

Do I even bother wearing make up to the funeral home tomorrow?

And then there’s the Sammie adventure. I called on Friday to get the results from her biopsy only to learn that the specimen had been lost. The lab said it never arrived. They had the Post Office do a search. They couldn’t locate it.

I’d have been really upset over it except that my dad was in such bad shape at that point.

This morning, my vet called, thrilled to report that the biopsy had finally arrived at the lab. Of course, we still don’t have any results. They’re putting a rush on it.

I wonder…do I really want to know? Of course, I do, as long as it’s good news. I could really use some good news right about now.

My writing is on the back burner, obviously. Just about everything is on the back burner. Right now the back burner is very crowded.