Va Kaalva
I went back to my mothers house this evening, in need of at the very least a bag to pack clothes in for the trip to Alabama that starts Tuesday in the wee am hours (I get back the twenty-fifth, for those so far unaware). I delayed going back till he went to work and went off that same direction to quit wasting time.
I could easily say I went, and I came back home with two bags, a robe, a trio of shoes, some bags of food, and other miscellaneous things, but it misses the point entirely in some cases. I showed up to her dressed up nice, took me a second before I remembered it was Sunday and therefor Church day. Sunday statement also reinforced when I asked what was being served for dinner after being invited, and found out it was lamb.
But that misses it, too.
It's easier that way. Cold, clean, removed, and semantically logical.
But I am not, and it never goes that easy.
She's worse yet. I could tell in the first sentence she spoke to me and increasingly so in the ones that followed it. She's still off the deep end and part of me still can't deal with the fact that each time I see here with increasing inconsistency, she's not improving, in fact each time she's worse. And this time she hit a nail on the head too hard. One that made me try to move as calculatedly as possible to clean and get the hell out as fast I could manage it.
She told me my sister had come back.
There are many things I can fight against when I have the will, but there is nothing to fight back against in this. And as I feared so many times before I spent the first decade of my life loosing one of the two most important people in my life, just to have a small break, and another decade loosing the second. I look at her and I don't know where she's gone or why. In some ways that terrifies me.
This is the woman I wrote a million essays saying if I could even be one third the person she was I would have accomplished a miracle with my life, she'd gone so far, don't so much, with so little, and ect. My friends, my closets friends of the time, have no respect, like or care for my mother. To them this part is like a fairy tale compared to what they've watched her do, say, rag, annoy, bicker, complain, ect.
And I get where Sabrina's coming from with her husband even if it's not the same situation, because she may be lost, angry, confused, but she was...is mine, and I love her with my whole heart, regardless of anything she does or says to me, yesterday, today, or tomorrow. She's my mother. How could I not?
And I thought I'd let go of all this. Told myself I had to keep going on with my life because I had to keep steady and keep going no matter what. And it isn't till I'm driving down 410 towards the apartment, My Immortal blasting through my car, tears falling down my cheeks, that I realize I'm not.
I'm not okay with this still. I'm tired of pushing on because I have to, because there's no other choice. I'm tired of living form one day to the next with this lurking fear of what my future represents without anything steady before it. ....and I'm tired of pretending to be brave, or strong, or courageous. Because I'm not. All I'm doing is pushing on, because I don't have a choice, because a month ago I got that taken away from me.
And I'm tired of hiding it behind even that stupid excuse, too.
I'm tired of pretending I'm fine and dandy, settled and adjusted like any good and movable potted plant.
I'm scared. More scared than I've been since I watched those ambulances take her away when I was twelve. Because I can't see the light at the end of the tunnel when i look at her anymore. Because I see more darkness and sadness and anger around her than I've ever felt in my own house in years. Because this time there is no medical end in sight that I'm being told to wait for. Because each time i see her it's getting worse, not better.
And this time there isn't a thing I can do about it.
I could easily say I went, and I came back home with two bags, a robe, a trio of shoes, some bags of food, and other miscellaneous things, but it misses the point entirely in some cases. I showed up to her dressed up nice, took me a second before I remembered it was Sunday and therefor Church day. Sunday statement also reinforced when I asked what was being served for dinner after being invited, and found out it was lamb.
But that misses it, too.
It's easier that way. Cold, clean, removed, and semantically logical.
But I am not, and it never goes that easy.
She's worse yet. I could tell in the first sentence she spoke to me and increasingly so in the ones that followed it. She's still off the deep end and part of me still can't deal with the fact that each time I see here with increasing inconsistency, she's not improving, in fact each time she's worse. And this time she hit a nail on the head too hard. One that made me try to move as calculatedly as possible to clean and get the hell out as fast I could manage it.
She told me my sister had come back.
There are many things I can fight against when I have the will, but there is nothing to fight back against in this. And as I feared so many times before I spent the first decade of my life loosing one of the two most important people in my life, just to have a small break, and another decade loosing the second. I look at her and I don't know where she's gone or why. In some ways that terrifies me.
This is the woman I wrote a million essays saying if I could even be one third the person she was I would have accomplished a miracle with my life, she'd gone so far, don't so much, with so little, and ect. My friends, my closets friends of the time, have no respect, like or care for my mother. To them this part is like a fairy tale compared to what they've watched her do, say, rag, annoy, bicker, complain, ect.
And I get where Sabrina's coming from with her husband even if it's not the same situation, because she may be lost, angry, confused, but she was...is mine, and I love her with my whole heart, regardless of anything she does or says to me, yesterday, today, or tomorrow. She's my mother. How could I not?
And I thought I'd let go of all this. Told myself I had to keep going on with my life because I had to keep steady and keep going no matter what. And it isn't till I'm driving down 410 towards the apartment, My Immortal blasting through my car, tears falling down my cheeks, that I realize I'm not.
I'm not okay with this still. I'm tired of pushing on because I have to, because there's no other choice. I'm tired of living form one day to the next with this lurking fear of what my future represents without anything steady before it. ....and I'm tired of pretending to be brave, or strong, or courageous. Because I'm not. All I'm doing is pushing on, because I don't have a choice, because a month ago I got that taken away from me.
And I'm tired of hiding it behind even that stupid excuse, too.
I'm tired of pretending I'm fine and dandy, settled and adjusted like any good and movable potted plant.
I'm scared. More scared than I've been since I watched those ambulances take her away when I was twelve. Because I can't see the light at the end of the tunnel when i look at her anymore. Because I see more darkness and sadness and anger around her than I've ever felt in my own house in years. Because this time there is no medical end in sight that I'm being told to wait for. Because each time i see her it's getting worse, not better.
And this time there isn't a thing I can do about it.