Difficult conversations… questions of wills, funerals, disposal of belongings, supported living plans… what to do with aging parents… contingency plans of what to do if, no when… when… (just thinking, typing that word “when” makes my throat ache and eyes grow wet)… when one dies or becomes too old for the other to care for, what support will they need from me.
Phone conversations wind round to these topics and then veer away when the heart starts to race and the voice starts to quiver.
I have decided I cannot move there… cannot quit jobs and go there to care for the survivor. My children live here. My grand children live here. I do not want to quit my job. So if, no, god damn it… not if… when one or both of them reaches that inevitable place where they cannot go on without me… they need to come here.
So I am going there, to have these hard conversations face to face… what is their wish… what I can do and what can’t I do… what will need doing… because I am the only one that will be doing it…