what’s next

The hospital has sent Theresa back home with my mom, as there’s nothing else they can do. Initially, they wanted to put her somewhere for hospice care, but my mom decided that she wanted Theresa to be home.

And now we wait.

You have no idea how horrible this is.

She’s well enough that she’s able to respond to hearing my mom’s voice and such, but it’s just crazy. She’s reached terminal incurable. At some point, her body will be overwhelmed. My job’s on standby. At some point a call from my mom’s going to be the call and I lose the sibling I was closest to; the sister I annoyed the most; the sister I sometimes called mom; the sister I mean 90 percent of the time I say, “my sister” (sorry, Chanelle).

There’s so much I want to say. I’m just not ready to.

Even when she was first diagnosed with MS, I still had hope that I wouldn’t have to think about this until we were 70 or 80 or something like that.

Everyone thinks that about their brothers and sisters.

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