Updated: Dec 9, 2020
One final act of defamation.
Things have been going pretty good around here this last week. Mom has been slowly but steadily moving out of "No!" territory (my caregiving Achilles heel), with less outward fear and hostility towards her pack of caregiving girls - making our jobs much, much easier and enjoyable, and keeping my blood pressure spikes to a minimum.
I wouldn't say we've hit another dementia upswing, but the current dementia terrain has been fairly smooth - no precipitous fissures opening up under my feet to free-fall into caregiver fury, no sudden geyser spewing caregiver stress and strain that sizzles acid-like on my tentative hold on well-being.
She even voluntarily danced with me this morning! Although there is a perversion in my personality that rather prefers force dancing the crap out of her instead.
Still, when we were rejected for hospice admission last month, an indicator that we are not within a probable 6-month departure of Mom from this life, my first thought was, "That old woman's gonna put me in my grave."
So, I've decided that upon my death, whether it be prior to Mom's demise, or years and years later from some disease we could all see coming a decade away due to my excessive indulgence in all things morally and physically ruinous (just so much more fun!), I proclaim to you all, right here, right now, that the official "Cause of Death" on my Death Certificate shall read: