oh holy night
This morning I got a phonecall from my mom and she sounded like she was dying. She's not dying,thank goodness, but I wonder if she would tell me if she were. Not if it was my birthday, I know that. Anyways- the deal is, my mother cracked her fibula. She was squatting down to feed the cats and because of all the drugs she's on, she has the balance of an eighty year old, plus her hands shake because of the shock therapy, so she fell in a wrong way.
Now she has to lie in bed all day because she can't handle her crutches, because she still has no balance, nor grip. The neighbours are taking turns coming over to take care of her. This of course is too much for my mother, who has a lot of pride. So she's asked me to come home as early as possible. Which means after Printmaking Tuesday, I'm off to Ottawa a little early.
Here's what's gotten me so shaken up though- It's actually not that bad. The bone will heal by itself in time, and she'll be on her feet again. But then it hits me.
My mother lives alone. And maybe she will for a long, long time. And I know that the next time something happens, it won't necessarily heal. My mother is FIFTY YEARS OLD. Picture Diane Keaton. But now strip her of her short term memory and her balance, and make her hands shake all the time. It's like she's closer to eighty.
My mom is moving soon. Not sure when, but the neighbours she'll have won't be ones she's known for a long time.
I guess what it is, is- my mom lives alone and she has no one to take care of her- even when she's sick with a cold. My mom was the best at taking care of me when I was sick. She even fluffed my pillows. Changed my sheets, brought me a washcloth for my forehead, listened to me complain, brought me flat gingerale and magazines from the library.
I love my mom and I'm worried about her.
Now she has to lie in bed all day because she can't handle her crutches, because she still has no balance, nor grip. The neighbours are taking turns coming over to take care of her. This of course is too much for my mother, who has a lot of pride. So she's asked me to come home as early as possible. Which means after Printmaking Tuesday, I'm off to Ottawa a little early.
Here's what's gotten me so shaken up though- It's actually not that bad. The bone will heal by itself in time, and she'll be on her feet again. But then it hits me.
My mother lives alone. And maybe she will for a long, long time. And I know that the next time something happens, it won't necessarily heal. My mother is FIFTY YEARS OLD. Picture Diane Keaton. But now strip her of her short term memory and her balance, and make her hands shake all the time. It's like she's closer to eighty.
My mom is moving soon. Not sure when, but the neighbours she'll have won't be ones she's known for a long time.
I guess what it is, is- my mom lives alone and she has no one to take care of her- even when she's sick with a cold. My mom was the best at taking care of me when I was sick. She even fluffed my pillows. Changed my sheets, brought me a washcloth for my forehead, listened to me complain, brought me flat gingerale and magazines from the library.
I love my mom and I'm worried about her.