Ok, time for the long version.

My mom is a tough, old tom-boy. She grew up in a broken home in Illinois and Texas in the post WWII era. Her dad is (still) a tough, WWII vet who could hunt and kill anything (even killing squirrels with a sling shot). Her mom is (still) a cook and caretaker, always offering to fix you some food or wash your sheets.

In the last decade or so, my folks have lived and worked (hard) on this ranch raising and training horses, mending fences and toilets, and raising wild amounts of flowers. (Mom has always marveled how many hundreds of her plants died in Amarillo yet here anything will grow.)

Several years ago, mom was diagnosed with colon cancer. She fought through, a hard fight, and got back to normal. Later, cancer showed up in her liver. Again, she fought through.

She got into competitive trail riding. She had great times and made great friends. She even bought a ratty old RV to stay in on the trails which she named Sadie, and fixed up cute as can be. (That must be where I got my need to name my things.) We have lots and lots of pictures of her riding Sassy, just as happy as she could be.

About six months ago, while we were all working to put together Mom and Dad’s 50th anniversary party, a kid on his way to work at the Walmart lost control of his car and hit mom’s little Escort wagon head on. Another fight. Badly broken bones and internal trauma. We all had a feeling that this fight would be the worst.

She did get back home and was working on physical therapy, walking with help, when her liver got plugged up. Back to the hospital. More surgery. More struggles. But again, she fought through.

She was still weak and sick when the whole family came down for Thanksgiving. We had a good time visiting, even though we knew Mom felt so sick.

Now, a week later, Mom is back in the hospital. Her dizziness, nausea, and headaches had gotten so bad that Dad brought her in. A CAT scan found bleeding in her brain, likely a ruptured tumor (although they don’t know for sure). The doctors’ plan was to fly her to Austin for brain surgery, likely removing enough brain tissue that she would not be able to walk or speak. This time, mom’s fighting spirit was in the other direction. She told the doctors, “No.” And, as usual, she won the fight.

The prognosis is that in the next few days (could be a day, could be a week), that the pressure on her brain will push her into a coma, and then stop her breathing. Not a bad way to go, if you think about the alternatives.

So, family and friends are here, saying their goodbyes. We all cry and blubber, but Mom just smiles and says kind words. Mostly it includes, “I’m not hurting. I feel good. Don’t cry for me. Cry for yourself, but not for me.”

Sabra reads all the blog comments and emails to her, fighting through tears. (I thought I could do better, but I can’t. Turns out I really am a wuss.) Mom loves hearing all the nice things people say about her, recounting memories and wisdom that she passed on. She says, “This is great! It’s like being at my own funeral.”

Last night she told me, “It’s amazing how much stuff you can not care about. My house. My things. I don’t have to worry about what Obama’s going to do!”

Thanks to everyone for the well wish and prayers. We are all good here. At peace and making the most of the time.

Now, go call your mother!

Clicky clicky for Mom’s blog.