Grim days.

The Reaper is too much with us.

Sunday was a tripleheader.  Flowers in church were from a funeral last week from one of our longtime members. She was older than me, but not Old Old, and as far as I knew this was not expected. Then, the pastor announced that our longtime office administrator, in and out of cancer treatment for years, had been moved to Hospice-level care and was not likely to last into this week.  She passed yesterday.  And my day ended with visitation for the mother-in-law of one of my gym-rat friends, who only months ago I saw at her own mother's funeral. 

Today? We got word that one of the older attorneys in my old office passed away. His calling hours are tomorrow. His older brother, also an attorney in that office who I knew even better, is a wreck.  They're taking care of him at the office, because that's what people in offices do when their families start dying all around them.

This all comes while we watch a nearly 17-year-old cat purr out his final weeks.  He's eating a little more; I spoon-feed him to get him interested, then leave him to finish at his own pace. Sometimes he does; more often not.  He's talking a bit more than when he first started failing last week, and comes out at times, snuggles with us at times, sleeps with us at times. But those times are getting fewer and farther between.

I expected to be doing this in my 70s.  I'm slowly learning how to do it now.

Oh, and my mother would've turned 99 today.  All I feel for all of these, I got from her.