Update, after The Talk

My older sister, younger brother, and I talked with our mom on Sunday as I wrote about in my last post. I explained everything her oncologist had told me as compassionately as I could. Afterward, she looked at my sister, her firstborn, and said, "What do you think of all this?" My sister replied: "I'm praying for a miracle." And my mom said "Oh, honey..." and started crying. Our tears didn't last long, though, and afterward she said she was relieved that we weren't "hiding behind the elephant in our livingroom" any longer. Today was a dismal, dreary day both outside and in for me. My mom seems to be doing OK with her terminal diagnosis. When Hospice care is called, that generally means you have 6 months or fewer to live. One of the hospice reps who called casually mentioned that my mom has "pretty extensive cancer." I don't know if I can interpret that to mean we'll have a LOT fewer than 6 months, or what. People are always strutting around saying "Yeah, the docs gave me two weeks to live, and that was three years ago!" Whatever; there's no way to predict. And today I was depressed about it all. Because I don't feel up to finding new words about it (despite this being the forum for them), I'll just copy part an email I sent a chaplain/RN friend of mine earlier today:

"As for emotions, mine are all over the board; Mom seems to be at a good place.
She says she didn't think that 70 would be her last year, but then all good things....

"Today I spent mainly feeling empty and sad, and with a huge sense that a big part of my life is being slowly erased. And not just my mom, but also the concept of
my-mom-and-me. The idea that I'd always have my mother's home to come to, where all my memories sit in their corners, and on the walls, and in the rafters for safekeeping; and this town with its beaches where we walked, and its stores where we shopped, and its parks where she pushed us on swings after we blew out the candles on so many birthday cakes; it's all changing, and I can't stop it, and this makes me so deeply sad--and beyond sad, to a place of no feeling at all. My mother is being taken away. I hope she discovers there is life where she goes. I hope she finds my father there, with my dog lying at his feet.

I'd drink, but then if she were to need help later tonight I wouldn't be able to be on my game, and that'd never do, me being caregiver on duty and all. Plus I'd have to deal with a headache tomorrow, since I'm such a lightweight wuss when it comes to alcohol. So I just have to sit with this--and email my friends when I can put my feelings into words that only partially represent them."

Places trigger memories. When my mom is gone, and this century-old house is sold to someone who most likely will knock it over and put up something new, what memories of mine will have lost their triggers? Which are the ones will I never afterward recall?