We were all bushed after the funeral and planned to take it easy last Saturday. Younger son, who rarely gets fevers, developed one. His temperature was higher than I'd like, but he wanted to sleep, drink water, and sleep more.
On Sunday, his girlfriend and I grocery shopped together. She made a large pot of chicken soup, her mother's recipe. I checked the back of his throat for strep. He slept more. I told him he needed to see a Doctor on Monday.
I was unpacking from our vacation, drinking Cabernet Sauvignon, half-watching TV when my sister from Virginia called, saying Mom hadn't felt well all day. I immediately switched into action mode, told her to call the assisted living back, have Mom ambulanced to the hospital, then I'd go there.
Told both sons and the girlfriend; they strongly suggested my older son go with me, which I'm glad he did. So much for a relaxing Sunday night. Around 10 pm, off we went, with a few supplies.
My mother was confused; her BP too high, her breathing ragged. Thankfully, the staff was excellent; she was admitted and I've been visiting every day to assess the situation. I cannot help but think of my husband, why he suffered in a place that should have helped him. As I trudge up the hill from parking, I see clouds reflected in glass windows, blue.
Brevity Quest 2016 263