It's December 17th and I have done almost nothing to prepare for Christmas....no tree is up, Christmas cards are non-existent, and I've done very, very little shopping.  Luckily, Santa is taking care of Gracie & Abigail...thank goodness for that jolly old man.  I know that there are tons of people out there who don't even begin shopping, wrapping, baking or decorating until the week before Christmas.  At least I think there are people like that...I've heard about them, but I've yet to meet any one who actually does it.  I could say that I'm one of those people and shrug off my procrastination as some kind of planned exercise.  "Nope!  I have done anything yet - it's on purpose!  I like all the stress  excitement of waiting until the last minute!"  I've been ridiculously busy with work for the last six weeks...I had seven photo sessions the week of Thanksgiving.  SEVEN!  I am thrilled that people actually want me to take their Christmas pictures.  And, oh yeah, on top of that, I did the fall preschool pictures the week before Thanksgiving....so that would be 60 mini-sessions the week before Thanksgiving.  Ummm, yeah, I'd say I was a bit busy.  So, I could say that my work is the reason for my lack of Christmas progress.  But, that wouldn't be true either.   Well, at least not completely...I'm sure that my work schedule and my normal state of procrastination are contributing at least partly, but the main reason is this....

My father is dying.  It pains me more than I can say to type those words...but honestly, watching the cursor flash as I type each letter doesn't change it or make it any more or less hurtful, because nothing is going to change it.  On Monday, my mother signed the paperwork to put daddy on hospice.  And, really, I don't think I've ever had more of a love/hate relationship with anything in my life like the one I have with hospice.  Simply put, the people are amazing.  They are compassionate and kind and every other syrupy word that you've heard about them.   But the whole concept of hospice...I'm not too fond of it.  It's gut-wrenching and let me tell you, my gut is usually not a wrencher.  Remember, I'm the mom of a preschooler and a kindergartner - my stomach is made of steel. 

When I last blogged, we were moving my dad here to Pensacola for some physical therapy.  The plan was he would have a few weeks of pretty intense therapy and then hopefully return home to Louisiana to live...maybe not an active life, but the hope was he would regain some of his strength so he could at least do basic things like walk from his chair to his bed and read and surf the internet.  And the big hope was that he would improve enough to be eligible and strong enough for a liver transplant.  Well, the first week he was here, he made progress...not a whole lot but enough that we were hopeful.  But, it was apparent that it was going to take longer than a couple of weeks.  His physical therapist told me it would be at least a month (and I could tell from her tone that she was being generous when she said that).  By the next week, Daddy was getting weaker and weaker.  Therapy became difficult, if not impossible for him.  We met with the doctor at the nursing home.  He is a soft-spoken man, but he doesn't mince words.  He told my mother and me that Daddy would be beating the odds if he survived a year.  My mom choked out, "He told me today that he doesn't want to live like this."  And the doctor nodded and said that he would imagine that he, too, would come to that conclusion if it was him.  And, I looked at the doctor and realized that he is probably about my daddy's age.  And it struck me that all this time when we thought dad was doing great, he wasn't -  he was simply getting better.  This doctor standing in front of me was the picture of health for a man in his sixties.  My dad didn't look anything like a healthy 66 year old man.  That was eye-opening for me. 

The next week, my dad's sodium level plummeted and he was sent from the nursing home to the hospital.  There, they got his sodium back up and stabilized his platelet count.  Back he went to the nursing home.  To everyone's surprise, well maybe not everyone's, but at least mine, Dad had lost very little strength during his hospital stay.  He jumped right back into therapy and felt strong enough to check out of the home to spend Thanksgiving Day with us.  But, the next week, he started get weaker and weaker.  The cycle was starting over.  By that Friday, he was back in the hospital with low sodium and even lower platelets.  He stayed for a week this time and last Saturday afternoon was released to the nursing home.  Saturday evening the nursing home sent him back to the hospital.  The hospital checked his bloodwork in the emergency room and sent him back to the home again.  Yep, three ambulance rides in one day.  My dad chuckled about that.  This time was different though...the hospital released him to palliative care, meaning they recommended nothing more than comfort measures...no more aggressive treatment.

So, Monday morning my mom, Steve, my sister via conference call, and I had the meeting with hospice.  They answered all of our questions and told us we didn't need to make a decision that day, but I could tell that they felt the sooner we made the decision the better.  My mom planned to talk to my brother and my sister and me and make a decision by the end of this week or the beginning of next week.

On Monday afternoon at 3:55 p.m., it was cold and raining.  I was driving toward the bank to make a deposit.  Gracie and her friend were in the far back seat of the van (after the bank, I was headed to drop off Gracie's friend after a play date...one that involved putting on every dress up outfit we own...those girls sure know how to have fun).  Abigail was buckled into her car seat, wearing nothing but her panties.  Yeah, I know, I know...but sometimes that girl just wears me out.  The phone rang.  It was my mom.  There was trouble with my dad's bloodwork and he had fever and chills.  The nursing home wanted to send him to the hospital.  My mother didn't know what to do.  I told her to ask them if they'd send him to the hospital for this if he was on hospice.  No was the response.  Then, I had her ask them if they were legally required to send him to the hospital since he wasn't on hospice.  Yes was the response, but they could call hospice right then and mom could sign the papers.  My mom asked, "What do I do?"  And everything in me cried out, "Send him to the hospital...do everything you can to make him better!"  But I stopped and looked up.  I remembered that the emergency room at the hospital was freezing and that daddy said the ride over in the ambulance was cold if there weren't enough blankets. That would be miserable for him if has already shaking.  And the answer came, falling like the cold rain, from above.  "Tell them, " I said with a voice that I know was choking, "tell them to call hospice and have them bring the paperwork."   And I was never more thankful to have God in my life than I was at that moment.  Because, the decision wasn't mine...it was His.

On Monday evening, my daddy looked bad.  He was incoherent and shaking from the chills caused by the fever.  I couldn't believe that just a few hours earlier, we'd been talking about Joe Patti's (a local seafood shop) and different recipes and restaurants.  I called my brother and sister and told them that they might want to come soon.  My sister is here...she arrived yesterday afternoon and spent hours visiting with my daddy.  Right now, she's tucked into the bed with Abigail.  She is salve for my hurting spirit and I imagine for Abigail's too.  I have not been the kindest Mommy of late and nothing makes Abigail smile like my sister.    My brother is trying to arrange his work schedule so he can come sooner rather than later. 

Right now, my dad is stable.  He's eating and was able to talk a bit coherently yesterday.  But, they're giving him morphine to help with his systemic pain and I know without aggressive treatment, his body can't function long without a liver.  And that makes me sad beyond words, but I'm thankful that our family decided to give him comfort in his final days.  Sometimes, going down fighting is just not the way to go.....

Now, you know my big long story that explains why I haven't started Christmas cards or cookies and why our tree isn't up.  I imagine that I will get to those things next week.  I have to....I have two little girls who need to know the magic that is Christmas and I need to do it for myself.  If Daddy is stable enough on Saturday, Steve & I have a very special treat planned for the girls.  It will require spending the night a few hours away from home, but if there's any way we can do it, we are going to.  Some people might say this is a terrible time our family to be going through this.  I think there couldn't be a better time...Christmas is one of the holiest times of the year and the whole reason behind the holiday is the one that makes it possible for me to even imagine saying goodbye to my daddy...