...a long ways from home.
Well in the end the decision was taken out of my hands. My aunt called the doctor and by the time he called around to the house to check on my mum he'd already got the surgery staff to make arrangements for my mother to be admitted to a hospice. My aunt called me this afternoon to let me know what has been arranged. I told her that I knew that I was being lied to about how ill mum was and that in reality I didn't think mum would live to see next Christmas. My aunt just said "don't leave it till Christmas to visit, in fact, make it sooner than later". I think this is it. I'm at the point now where I'm going to dread answering the phone, or reading email or anything because it's not going to be long before I get the call to give me "the news".
Knowing this is really weird. On the one hand I am swinging from wailing in complete despair, to screaming with rage. And on the other there is a kind of resigned calm. There is nothing I can do, so I'm just waiting for the end in the same way I suppose you would wait on a runaway train heading for the precipice. Things happen and suddenly you realise that you are only a puppet with some demonic god(dess) of fate pulling on the strings, laughing as you try to make sense of things.
Either that or the matrix is real and Agent Smith has it in for all of us.