Addendum to the post I just made about my mother:
I'm startled to see how similar my father's experience of her illness was to my living through my late husband's final weeks with the skin cancer that had metastasized into his brain. He also was someone else by the last, with moments only of lucidity. He felt much less joy, I'm sorry to say, and a lot more paranoia. But here I am, almost 20 years after he had to go, and I'm happy to say I was with him when he took his last breath.
As for *me*, old girl that I am now, even without the "benefit" of cancer in my brain, I'm compulsively, endlessly reliving my entire life. I'll be washing dishes or something else random, when a memory will seize me, and I relive it. Sometimes over and over. This seems to be an old age thing. If your grandma or grandpa keeps telling you the story about the time they did this or that, I'm here to say it's just what we oldsters have to do. Your patience will be rewarded by Karma or whatever you believe to be true morally/spiritually.
Go in peace, as they say.
