With everything so absolutely wonderful in one area of my life, in another area things appear to be deteriorating. Mom is down. She insists she is fine. But most days, we wake her up to take her medicine, then she goes back to sleep. Ronnie likes when she is asleep. She laughs and talks happily in her sleep. This is not something that we see very often. In her dreams I believe she is well. She is well and living a normal, healthy and happy life. When we wake her, her body is betraying her. It refuses to do what she needs it to do. It fights her. Though I want my mom awake, alert and with me, I long for her to be happy as she is in her dreams. Her demeanor has changed as well. I rarely see a genuine smile, hear her laugh or make jokes. She has grown quiet and somewhat withdrawn. Those of you who know mama, know this is completely out of character. Though I know she values family time more that anything in the world, when we are all there together--the noise and chaos seems to be unsettling for her. When you think back to your worst cold, flu or stomach virus you ever had, the last thing you really wanted was company, right? Well, that is how I make myself understand why my mom seems to be annoyed sometimes with our presence. She will never admit it--but I know her and I see it in her face when the crowd becomes a bit overwhelming for her. I always take the hint and try to leave soon. I have spent the last few days trying to balance my desire to be with her and her need for privacy and rest.
Since I had Mili, I have had only one emotional night. With everyone asleep and no one to distract my thoughts, I flashed back to the chemo days. Those of you that have kept up with the blog know that, though I did my best and was always available for her, I was not able to attend every minute of every chemo session. Most of the time I just hung out in town until it was finished because I had the girls. We often dropped her off, waved to her through the window, greeted her as she walked out, then took her to lunch. But, usually, she sat through the actual treatment alone. The more I pictured her in that cold room, alone, with poison pumping through her body, the more upset I became. Finally, I called mom. To my surprise, she answered. I told her to answer me honestly. I asked if she felt alone or if it was hard on her because I wasn't in there with her each time. She stopped me in my tracks: "What are you doing? Why are you asking this? I didn't want you there! There was no need for you to sit there. I wanted you with your girls. You have done more for me than, even you, will ever know. So stop thinking like that. Just stop it". She was passionate. After several bad days, it felt good to hear fire in her voice... I believe what she says. I guess I am forever looking for a reason to beat myself up.
Today, I pretty much forced mom out of the house. She admitted that she really did want to get out, but you couldn't tell by her behavior. She was quiet and withdrawn. She held her body in an awkward position while riding in my car. She gripped her body in pain each time I hit a bump in the road. I tried to make conversation, but it was hard. Though our outing was limited due to Mili, I thought we could at least grab lunch at Shipleys. Mom didn't touch her food. Don't mistake me, I don't mean she didn't eat much, I mean she didn't eat a thing. She barely even looked at her food. She didn't talk hardly at all. Halfway through the meal, she got up and walked outside to wait on us. I couldn't finish eating. I missed my mama. I missed her even as she sat next to me in the car on the way home. I feel, sometimes, like I don't have her now. It is hard to see her want to be herself, but unable to quite grasp who she used to be. The cancer is stripping her of herself. It is heart wrenching to watch.
Once we got back to her house, I put the "big" girls down for nap, while she watched Mili. When I came out, I found this:
