The chaplain who works with hospice can to call yesterday. My poor DH, who was raised in NY, the Bronx, and his idea of meat, is going to the grocery and grabbing a package wrapped in cellophane.
Eggs came in a package as well, and milk was delivered to the door of the apartment in a glass bottle..
Now the chaplain and I were both raised on a farm, me part time, him full time. I'm from the mid-west, he's from the south, so we starting comparing notes. What fun. There were so many things that are the same. How they did things, compared to how we did thing. Milk, cream, gathering eggs, how we butchered and even why technology has in many ways ruined our meat and some of the vegetables. All in the effort to make money faster.
I really would like to go back to a lot more physical work and a lot more meat fed the stuff they got 50, 60 years ago. There was flavor then.
Before the chaplain left he asked how my days were going. I told him bad days, and good days. He reminded me that as this disease progresses, there will be more bad days than good. So yes, this week there have been more bad days than good. So, if I miss a day, it may be because it's a really bad day. They are coming. I know it, my hospice people know it. Even some of my kids know it. Unfortunately, not all the family accepts it. So here we go again. Can I ask for prayers for those who aren't ready to accept the future? Thanks.
Now, I have clothes to fold. A nice sit down job.