receding

My dears,

I have spent the last 20 hours without leaving Val’s side. Now I am taking a quick break to grab some clean clothes, deal with various things, and send a quick update.

Sweet Val is receding from us, friends. Her body continues to decline. Today she can barely open her eyes and finds it difficult to see. The lines between her dreams and the waking reality the rest of us occupy are very blurry. Her breathing is increasingly labored, requiring visible heaves of her abdomen. Her grip is weak and it takes the gentle, strong hands of others to move her body. And she is finding it increasingly hard to talk, not just because of her shortness of breath, which has constrained her conversation for months now, but because it is hard to move her lips, and hard to make the words she wants come out.

Often she is confused. Sometimes she is upset. Mostly she is relaxed and drifting and telling me tiny, semi-comprehensible stories. But she never fails to thank the people who help her. “I sure appreciate your help,” she whispers. “Are you okay now?” they ask kindly, and she croaks, “… Yes. Are you okay?”

We are in a safe place. I think we will be welcome to stay here.