Annoyingly so. in A small but passable life.

Mom called a week or so ago. And of course she told a tale that was weeks old. She had fallen, again, but decided she was fine. Then later, weeks later, she was hurting and decided to call an ambulance. Nothing was broken, just bruised.

Yesterday my sis-in-law called and said that one of my two cousins that lives in the RV park called and said Mom had fallen again and was in the hospital. We talked for a bit and decided to just wait for more news.

This morning I got an email from sis-in-law saying that tests had been run and Mom has a major blockage in an artery going to her brain. It was a surgery to unblock another artery about ten years ago that led to her first major stroke. Which she fully recovered from. And she has said ever since then that she’ll never have that surgery again. So now here we are.

I went to the airline site to peruse ticket prices. And I knew what would happen, like always. I found a good deal just ten days away. The next good deal was a month or more away. I bought a ticket for April 30th for $108. It was $165 by the time I added a carry-on bag, a check-in bag, and $14 for an advance fee for re-booking, if needed.

So now, since I’ll likely never to return to this house or this room, I need to organize and pack up EVERYTHING.

That’s why I paid for a check-in bag. I’ll have forty pounds more that I’ll be able to take. I really missed my knit blankie and my two fleece blankets while I was out there. I’m also thinking about taking my goosedown sleeping bag in case I want to spend a Winter night or two out in the desert.

I’ve spent the past nearly eleven months sitting right here in this chair, going over and over in my mind exactly what needs to be done if I ever need to fly back out to the desert. What needs to be done can be done in a couple of hours, but once the process is started it will seem too final.

I’m leaving the footlocker. I’m leaving a big duffle of Winter clothes. I’m leaving my backpack and backpacking gear. I’m going to pack a big Rubbermaid tote with all my household and kitchen items. Everything else should fit in a carry-on, my knapsack, and a forty pound check-in suitcase.

Oh yeah, I’m also obviously leaving my lawn chair, my camp table, the footstool I found in an alley, and the thin hide-a-bed mattress I’ve been sleeping on for nearly two years.

Yep, life goes on. Annoyingly so.