Firefighters came to move Dad into a hospital bed (the bed is at my parents’ house). I didn’t know firefighters were the people you called to do that job, and I didn’t ask any questions, just reporting back to you.

Mom’s sister flew in to town and is staying with Mom. Middle reported our aunt solemnly turned to Middle as the firefighters left and said, “He’ll never get out of that bed again.”

She should know better than to bet against an Eff-You-I-Do-What-I-Want type like my father, because he’s been up a time or two since. So wobbly they make him wear a belt so someone can hold onto the back of his pants in case he starts to tip over. But to be fair, it’s not like he’s bopping around the vast majority of the time.

He hasn’t taken any liquids since Thursday, and everyone seems surprised he’s still hanging around. Mom reports he isn’t talking much anymore, but generally seems calm unless they have to roll or change him, which seems to cause him pain (I didn’t ask details, so let your imagination run wild I guess).

Today, Mom said, “His sleep seems to be getting deeper and deeper over time. He opened his eyes briefly this morning when I said his name, but then closed them and drifted off again.”

There is a night nurse who comes now. The nurse told Mom, “You need more help than this. You need someone to come in the day, too.” GOOD LUCK WITH THAT, LADY.

Another nurse, this one from hospice, called this morning to see if she ‘needed to come in’ to give Dad a bath, and JFC, that seems like an insensitive call to make. Just come the fuck over, and if he’s dead, you’re off the hook.

I am having a surprisingly hard time modulating my emotions. I know people say, “I just cry at the drop of a hat these days.” I thought that meant crying easily after being sparked by that Sarah McLachlan SPCA commercial or a sad song on the radio. Not this bullshit where I tear up mid-sentence with the grocery cashier, talking about whether I want to play their Monopoly game.

I have not told many people in my real life about what’s going on. Two IRL people have called/Skyped me and ended up crying. It’s strange to be the one comforting them about Dad’s eminent demise, but it doesn’t really bother me. It’s hitting them fresh and all at once, and probably bringing up complicated emotions about their own parents.

Maybe one of these times, they will be upset when I’m upset, and hellooooo waterworks. But for now, it’s just been awkward. For example, in an ill-thought-out attempt to comfort one of my friends when she confessed fear at the prospect of her own father dying, I said, “It’s not as bad as you think it’ll be.”

To her credit, she simply looked at me like Jesus! What a terrible thing to say! Which was pretty on point.

Puppies were born last night! I am scheduled to pick them up tomorrow afternoon. The shelter sent a photo and they look like if you took sausages to a barber shop, and you threw those sausages down into all the hair clippings. And yet still somehow adorable? How does that even work? I’ll post some photos when they get here.