And if I do, it will be probably only one post daily, personal.

See this, and this.

The time has come which our 94-year-old Mom has been eagerly awaiting. A three day celebration in which we give her a big send-off prior to lift-off, on the arms of her two youngest, and tallest, and strongest, children, first class, to Baton Rouge, where she will be cared for in the manner which she announced, clear as a bell and insistent, she wanted, by our loving sister Paula.

Speaking for all those elders who are held in institutional holding pens, no matter how caring the place, she announced, wiping the cobwebs of dementia from her brain in a rumbling from deep below:

“This is crazy. My life is crazy. I want to live with a family who loves me.”

Over the next few days, she repeated this, or some variant of it, over and over again, demanding that we take her seriously. So we did.

Our Lady Renee has been nested in a beautiful little studio apartment with a view of Seattle and the Cascades beyond, on the fourth floor of the state-of-the-art Mount Saint Vincent facility in West Seattle, for almost exactly nine months since Dad died. A new birth is in order. Birthing herself, her own choices, for however long that she remains here, in that old, decrepit, but still remarkably functional, body.

It’s only been three weeks since she told us, in no uncertain terms, that she wanted to “go south. . . as soon as possible.“

Her bags are packed. Her arm chair has been removed. What’s left of her stuff is on its way to various grandchildren. A few photos and photo albums have been sent south already. Only one large suitcase will go with her. After all, as she pointed out, she won’t need her winter clothes down there.