My mom is dying. Or maybe not. Mom is a fighter and doesn't give up easily. In fact, she never gives up, advice given to her by my grandmother, oft quoted by my step-father Ernie, who did give up. Two years ago, when it didn't look like Mom was going to make it, Ernie gave up. He basically lost his will to live, and he died. I remember telling him as I was coaxing him to eat, "You know, it would be just like Mom to pull through this." And she did. It was a long slow come-back, but she made it. That was when she had a hip replacement, which was two years after having her third heart surgery of her life: two valves replaced, a third valve repaired, and a double bypass.



It's been a rocky year and half. My mom moved in with me after Ernie died. Her health needs were too great and she couldn't live alone. Newly separated, it worked out reasonably well at first. I quit my job and became my mom's primary caregiver. Three months after she moved in she was hospitalized for some mystery illness. I don't think that one was ever diagnosed.