Mom claimed that as an adolescent, I would often not do as I was told, and that in her opinion my actions were just to be contrary. One oft-cited example was my curfew of midnight. Mom alleges that I got home on time after one particular date, but that I sat on the front stoop alone until 10 minutes after my curfew, simply to be defiant of the rules.
Now Mom’s the defiant one. I’ve spoken of Bonus Days (we’re at Day 14); now I’ll speak of bonus hours (we’re at Hour 16*). (*In fairness to our wonderful hospice nurse, I emphasize that the 24-hour window she mentioned was a non-binding estimate; as she so frequently points out, everyone is different.)
By nature, I like to know what’s going on; some might suggest I like being in control. This is one situation over which I have no control, and must simply surrender to powers that know more than I. On one message board related to End of Life issues, a wise writer wrote the following:
I realized my concept of when, where and how was flawed. I realized the One who would have the final say, was perfect in time.
And so we wait. Mom’s sitting on the proverbial front stoop until she, and the One, are good and ready.