Still, I think she’s ready to go. The love of her life has already waited four years to see her again. And she feels like shit. Constant nausea and an uncooperative brain ravage her waking hours. Her twig-like legs won’t obey, choosing instead to arbitrarily jut out from under her or remain defiantly stationary.
Lately she’s been asking what things of hers we want so she can remember us in her will. We refuse to shop through her possessions. Besides, what I really want is my old mom—and life—back.
One day she was living independently, and I spent hours writing. The next day, she fell and suddenly needed constant care and supervision. She says I’ve become the parent and she the child. I secretly, shamefully resent this staggering responsibility as characters in my now-neglected novel become strangers to me.
When she’s gone, I’ll hate myself for getting irritated when she needed “just one more thing.” Will I forgive myself for pouting about ruined plans and sleeping on the couch outside her bedroom? Probably not.
Her new wheelchair helps … when she remembers to use it. I worry another fall could do her in. She’s hit her head so many times there’s a quarter-sized cavity in her scalp. I can flush out the pus and change the dressing without retching now.
When she’s gone, the vacant bed will chastise me for grumbling about driving her to thrice-weekly doctor appointments. Her arsenal of pills (that didn’t do enough) will deride me for each time I impatiently repeated myself for her waning ears.
Every day I pray for strength to be the daughter she deserves so I can live with myself when she’s gone.
#
This
week's Trifecta Writing Challenge:
The
entry must be 33-333 words and include the word "remember" as defined
below:
REMEMBER
a : to keep in mind for attention or consideration <remembers friends at Christmas>
b : REWARD <was remembered in the will>
REMEMBER
a : to keep in mind for attention or consideration <remembers friends at Christmas>
b : REWARD <was remembered in the will>
Word count: 333
