Fading fast

Going home again this weekend, and again, not looking forward to it. Dad says Mom is fading fast. I know the hospice people came by the house last week, and though they didn't exactly tell me what that means, I can only conclude that it was to make whatever preparations necessary for Mom to die. Again, not sure exactly what those preparations might be, but it's a depressing thought to go home to.

Not to make it all about me. I'm not the one who's dying. I want to be there for her, so of course I will be. But it's rough. Trying not to let it drag me down, but not entirely succeeding.

I hate that I'm so fucking fragile. The rest of my family meets it head on a lot better than I do. I feel avoidant and cringey just thinking about it. But it's not about me.