Tonight, when I came home, my daughter, Monkey, asked me when Grandma was going to die. I told her that I didn't know, but when she and God were ready then that would be the time. So, then she asked me why, and I said that Grandma is very sick and sometimes very, very sick people go to Heaven. Then, she told me that she had a dream in which she and Grandma were running, and she was keeping God away from Grandma. As I write this, Monkey is drawing a picture of Grandma running.

My mother hasn't even walked more than a couple of steps in just over a year. Before that it had been about three years since she had walked more than 20 or 30 feet.

One of the things I've been struggling with is how to tell my children about their grandmother so that they will understand. We talked to them this morning, and they seem to be dealing with it really well. So well in fact, that I don't think they have a clue that death means that Grandma isn't coming home and they will never see her again. Not unless there really is a God, Heaven and Afterlife. I don't know what I believe.

The hospital chaplain came and talked to us tonight. We were asked today to make a decision regarding a Do Not Resuscitate order. My mother's blood pressure is steadily dropping, her kidneys are in complete failure, and she needs huge forces of Oxygen to keep breathing. If we choose to put her on life support, it will mean that she will spend the rest of her life under heavy sedation with a tube down her throat. First, she will be intubated, and then she will have a tracheotomy. I have no idea if I'm spelling any of this correctly.

Christmas has become a list of chores to complete. Santa's Village? check Pictures with Santa? check (or actually not - we haven't done this yet and I honestly don't know if we'll make it this year) what else? I think I have most of the shopping done, but I couldn't tell you now what I've bought or if one child has only clothes and another only toys. Six, three and sixteen month olds aren't known for their compassion when it comes to equality of Christmas presents.

Almost every night, the kids and I read a story and then we open a window on an Advent calendar. If I'm at the hospital, then their father will open the window with them. I am hopeful that the stories will help them explore Christmas as a spiritual event rather than a material, present-laden enterprise. I am especially hopeful that all three of them will have an epiphany and learn this year that Christmas is a time for loving and appreciating to the greatest possible extent one's family and friends.

Some time at the beginning of this month, I happened to read back over a post I wrote last year at about this time. I wrote that I didn’t think my mother would see another Christmas. At that time she was very sick, but she was tip-toeing through the tulips then as compared to the way she is tonight. It's doubtful at this point that she will see this Christmas without the ventilator.

Tonight, the chaplain said a lovely prayer over my mother. My father held her hand. Her cousin, Gary, and I stood at her feet. My brother stood next to my father at her side, and my sister stood on the other side. As the chaplain prayed, my mother looked at my father with a huge plastic breathing mask obscuring her face and she cried. It is at that moment that I believe that my mother understood that she really is dying. My mother loves my father, and I saw that tonight in the way she looked at him. She looked at him, and he cried. And she cried.

I have cried so much over the last couple of weeks that the area beneath my eyes is one giant red rash. My theory is that the saline in my tears is reacting with the dryness and scalding my skin.

After the prayer, my father spoke to the nurse and gave instructions for the Do Not Resuscitate order. My sister, brother and I each spoke to her privately. I told her that she was a really good mother who successfully gave each of us the tools we need to pursue happy and fulfilled lives. I talked about the times we drove between Washington and Texas. I told her again and again that I love her, and that I know she loves me. I assured her that no matter what we would take care of our father, and that I would do my best to raise my children as well as she raised us. In as many different ways that you can verbally tell someone you love them, I told her that she has always had our love and we know that we have hers.

When I left, she was sleepy but she appeared to still be responding. By morning, she may no longer be able to respond.

The chaplain really helped. She explained everything to us in such a way that we could understand what is happening to my mother. She helped us understand our options. She was an enormous comfort.

I don’t want to lose my mother, but even as I write this – she may already be gone.

Thankfully, the hospital is about two miles from my home. I can at least come home to sleep and see my children, but as I write this – I think I should go back and spend every moment there until she’s gone. I can’t lose my mother. All those things I said to her tonight were bullshit. I have no idea how I will let her go.

It’s almost one in the morning, and Monkey is still on the loose. If I am going to get any sleep, I should head off to bed and take the Monkey with me.

To anyone who might have read this far, I hope you are enjoying this holiday season. Go give the biggest hug you can to all those that you love.