Last night after dinner, mom and A took a walk. We’re in Boston now. Dad went upstairs to rest his belly. I helped an old friend move his website to a new server.  A normal evening.

Dad ate a BIG dinner: we had corn and squash from the farmer’s market on the turnpike and there was left over fish that their friends Larry and Phyllis brought over the night before.

My sister had just left for SF in the morning. Brother on his way tonight. We don’t want to leave them alone.  A needs to be at work in Albany on Monday. I’ll bring her home.  Then I think I’ll come back.

Red Sox game tomorrow?   Maybe!

Hospice came twice. Lot of medicine in the fridge. “Just in case,” says mom as she shakes the giant baggie. A new one just arrived. I open it. Pancreatic enzyme.

Dad is in good spirits. He is a bit constipated. We all talk about the squatty potty.  A bought me one for my birthday.  I have become a fan.   (“Something you didn’t have.”)  I order one for dad on Amazon.  He is skeptical.  It will be here in two days. We marvel.  The dog lies at his feet.  “He knows,” I tell myself.  Dad rubs his tummy.   Dogs love tummy rubs.

His plan is to let the calcium take him.

Its been nearly 3 weeks since his last zoledronate dose. The last one lasted about 3 weeks.

I don’t think he’s planning on another.

His speech isn’t slurring yet.  He will get confused and then very tired.  Tomorrow? Another week?  Two? Impossible to know.  And he may change his mind and have another dose. That would get them back to SF.

The CBD stents will occlude again soon too. When?  Days?  Weeks?  Plastic stents will occlude again in 2 – 4 months.  Dad says that he’ll not get it replaced.  I think to myself that cholangitis won’t be a fun way for him to go.   The CBD stents were placed because tumors were occluding the common bile duct.  Here’s the drawing that the GI doc did.  2015-07-15 20.58.01Without the stents, the common bile duct would occlude, which would eventually lead to cholangitis.

Maybe Red Sox tomorrow. That would be fun.

It’s silly to think about “the last” dinner, red Sox game, book to read.  I thought we would do that but we don’t.  We are present.  Now. The same.  My jokes remain barely appreciated.  His aren’t funny either.  Mom laughs at her own stories.  Too much.  She is so scared.

Carol came tonight.  Her husband died a month ago. She hugged dad too hard when she left.  She wonders if it’s the last.

We went to bed.  But now I’m awake.  Long run for me in the AM.  15 miles?  We’ll see.  9 weeks until the Albany marathon.  And then another 3 weeks to NYC marathon.  Its on his birthday.  He would be 79.  I sent an email earlier this week asking him to be there.  He didn’t reply. Maybe he didn’t see it. He doesn’t read all of his e-mail these days.  Maybe he did. I’ll ask.