An improvement

What a wonder sleeping in your own bed can be.

Getting off the plane and being absorbed by the smell of terrarium (that's what Seattle smells like), and washing off the smell of dust and sage.

Ritual cleansing...

Then sitting down and starting the spreadsheet that determines how long she can pay for her own care before she is penniless...the one think in life she feared the most. But luckily, there are family members with resources. We will always take care of her. She knows this now. She believes in us. She won't worry. And she will get better. Some. But not all the way. She will never mow the lawn again. She'll be lucky to actually leave the building again. But that could be me being a tad pessimistic.

Ritual cleansing...continued...

Now I don't have to lay awake worrying about what I'm going to encounter. We've seen the worst. And survived it. And even at her most mentally evasive, she knew me. She knew my mother. She didn't have a bloody clue where she was, didn't know anyone else, but she knew us. This was such a comfort- even if she was faking it.

Then two days later, she was back. Tired, but back. Back in a way I haven't seen in years. Seriously. I relayed to Kenga one of her thought trails, and he was astounded. She was able to actually formulate a very cogent argument. I guess that constant medical attention and eliminating her persistent infection/dehydration/ecletic diet/lack of sleep might be the best of all possible worlds. We just didn't know. Now comes the fight against personal recrimination...but I just have to remember- she's a cranky old bird who wasn't going to move.

Ah. remember the cleansing...

I've got to ring off and prepare for the actuality of my life. Today. Here. In the terrarium. Let the rest take care of itself for a day, because me toying with the ideas all day isn't going to make a damned bit of difference.

It really does smell funny here... maybe that's teen spirit. Maybe it's freedom...maybe it's just rotting green things.