Revelations

The following wasn't easy for me to write. It's deeply personal. If introspective crap like this bores you, please move onto the next blog and come back here next time. I'll try and be more entertaining then.

I had a revelation last night. Nothing dramatic, nothing earth-shattering. There was no thunderclap in the distance to support it, no dramatic music providing a powerful soundtrack, just me, lying in bed, ready to fall asleep thinking about some things I shouldn't have been thinking about (because if I continued thinking about them, I would never had fallen asleep, and everyone knows I love my sleep).

Last night was a family dinner at the home for My Kid. A Hawaiian Luau complete with limbo contest (no, I didn't limbo...I've no intention of falling flat on my back, thankyouverymuch), tropical music, and a slice of pineapple on the piece of ham they gave me for dinner.

I didn't eat too much of my dinner, though. Spent most of my time making sure The Kid was eating properly. Gently reminding her to slow down. (She doesn't think while she eats, and just shovels in the food sometimes.) Reminding her to sip her drink and sip slowly. Wiping off her mouth because most of the food has ended up somewhere else besides where it's supposed to be.

Out of everything else that I've had to do (and believe me, there are some things I've done that would surprise and shock you), that is the hardest thing of all...watching my mother, a woman who was known for proper table manners, being neat and clean, slop food all over the place.

It's a bitch for me to admit that. I can deal with everything else. I've dealt with shit (literally), with blood, with all kinds of other...but I can't deal with watching her eat. The simple fact of having to wipe my mother's mouth off, clear away the mushed up food and drink that she wears, sometimes, more than she eats, and I can't deal with that.

That's why I usually leave before feeding time. I don't want to be there to see her eat. Family dinners, I'll gladly go to and be there for her, but...



She was getting tired (guess she'd been up most of the afternoon), and toward the end of the dinner, she was starting to dose off in her wheelchair. I took her back to her room and stayed with her for about 10 minutes until the nurses came in and cleaned her up (God bless them and their ability to do that...no way in Hell could I manage that), and put her to bed.

I came back in her room, gave her a goodnight kiss, wished her sweet dreams and said goodnight. She was smiling, so content, so happy, when I left. She had a good night, mostly (I think) because I was there.

Wasn't easy, the drive home last night. I felt...I dunno. Lonely. Emotionally needy. Depressed. Mostly depressed, I guess. Things on my mind that I couldn't shake. It wasn't until I got in bed (far too early last night, even by my standards) and I lay there thinking about things I shouldn't and going to places in my mind that I know better than to go, that I realized...it was the simple act of watching my mother eat, and watching her slop food all over herself, when I was raised to be so neat and tidy at the table...

I felt...and still do...feel about one inch tall over this one. Gonna take me awhile to come to terms with this. I'm sure I will, in time. Writing about it helps, and is a start, but it'll take more than just posting a long blog to help me deal with this one.

Comments for this post are disabled. Nothing personal, but please...don't talk to me about it. As my friend the flowerpetal taught me to say, "It is what it is". Leave it at that. Just...thanks for reading.