After a turbulent and busy week, I'm back on the ferry home. And it feels very odd. All day I've had a knot in my stomach about going. It's the right time to go - mum is managing well, is back to driving again and cooked me a meal tonight, so she's pretty much back to normal, or as much as is possible. I've done what I came to do - give her some practical help and moral support - now it's time to go back home to the children and B., to work and to my life.
But it feels like I'm leaving behind an unclosed chapter. I know that is the nature of this disease, you can't make any long-term predictions, but it is difficult nonetheless. Last time when she was ill and when I went back home after having spent nearly a month in Holland, it felt right to go back home. I'd been with her during her stay in hospital and then afterwards while she was recovering, and we'd been back to the hospital together for the results, which were very optimistic and there was nothing else left to do except wait and hope. This time round, we're waiting and hoping again, but just because she's had her operation, doesn't mean that we can't get any more bad news. It's hard to explain, but last time I felt we had a sense of closure that is missing this time.
I left dad's place about 3 this afternoon and then spent a few more hours with mum before setting out to Hoek van Holland. I still have that knot in my stomach and I think I'll have to swallow a very big lump in my throat when the ferry leaves. I'm going back home but I'm leaving home behind just as much. And that is hard.