Drawing a line

Packer Sunday in the Bistro
"Lambeau South"

I had probably my worst ever visit with my Mom Sunday. I had a cold and had to flee church three times with coughing fits, the old ladies in the back trying to say kind things as I raced by, manfully  suppressing an urge to strangle them as I passed.  When at last Mom and I left the chapel we found ourselves staring at each other in her room, and then staring at each other in the Bistro over food she wouldn't eat, and finally, back in her room, she had to lay down and that was fine with both of us.

But Julie went later and had a delightful time. She wrote to my sisters, though my visit was "kind of a bust, the good news is that when I stopped by later in the afternoon that same day, your Mom had no memory of Jon's visit or going to church with him!" When Julie pointed out to my mom that it wasn't fair that I don't get credit, "she smiled and chuckled."

Funny!

St. John's has decided she'll stay in Stratford -- skilled nursing -- and has asked us to clean out her Cranberry room. So I took today off to collect boxes, rent a second storage unit, and reserve a van to move the bed, the couch and the dresser, among a slew of errands in her service.

About 1 pm., on my way to Target to buy her a couple of puzzles, she called. "I'm in my room now. What's your day look like?"

My day looked like, well, it looked like an afternoon in Maui, drinking Mai Tais on the beach. And, sure, I'd love to visit.

Not so much.

I told her bluntly I wasn't going to make it there today.

"Oh," she said, sounding hurt.

Which made me think -- damn it all -- Should I go? I'd been there last night, even, and Sister S and Brother J are coming tomorrow, and so is the private aide.

So I just drew a hard heartless line and said, again, I wasn't going to make it.