copyright 2017 Chris Smith All rights reserved.
and misty rain
pitter patter on the ground
the sun hides from me
We ended up parting ways with Mom's interim caregiver Kate. We weren't set up financially to afford her. Also Kate was limited in her physical strength in helping Mom get up and out of bed and walking her to the bathroom.
Dad and I felt it was important to keep Mom moving as much as we could. Even if it meant dragging her ass out of bed and assisting her as she walked to the bathroom. It was all out war when we made Mom get out of bed to get up and walk. Dad normally got the brunt of it with her punching, kicking, trying to scratch his eyes and bite him.
Dad had it down moving her from laying on the bed to standing up and walking to the bathroom. Once you got the old gal moving, she was great. But getting her up, without getting hit, punched, or bit was a tad like wrangling a pissed off tiger minus the shredding claws. He'd get her standing and then spin her around like he was handling hot coals, getting all the biting/scratching/punching parts of her facing the opposite direction from his face. It was an act of beauty, an art dare we say, the way that man was able to handle her. I wasn't nearly as artistic or as quick on the draw as he was with her.
We used to laugh about Mom being at the Hospital because we thought they should have had those toy fake chattering teeth that imitate biting down. The Hospital should have the chattering teeth posted outside Mom's room like a warning sign to anyone who entered the room that the room contained "A Biter."
Mom had great teeth. Plus some killer incisors. She could leave a pretty darn good mark on you, if she was mean enough.
Not having Kate around would mean more work for Dad and I. It would also mean I wouldn't be able to go to the office with Dad anymore. Someone needed to stay home and that would probably be me.
I broke down. It had been a long three months of emotional trials. I didn't even know if we were getting anywhere with it all. Sure Mom was home.
But what the fuck did that mean?
The Doctors at the Hospital had no faith in us or our methods. We weren't sure of them ourselves. We were shooting in the dark, hoping our aim and our instincts were right. We hoped. But we didn't KNOW. And there's a huge fucking difference between the two.
You can hope for rain but that doesn't mean rain is coming. You can hope for miracles. You can even pray for miracles. But that doesn't guarantee any are coming your way.
We were at war with a disease that was living off Mom like a parasite. It was stealing her life right out from under us. It was stealing her time. And it was stealing nutrients she needed to survive. Everything we were pumping into her, it was stealing.
We didn't know if the weapons we were using would doing anything. The Hospital Doctors didn't believe in them. Chemo was the only thing they believed in. We'd said a hard and firm "No" to chemo months ago.
Maybe we were wrong?
Maybe trying to save her was helping her dig the grave faster?
We didn't know.
I couldn't hold it in anymore. I was drowning and there was no one to save me because I was too busy trying to save everyone around me.
I sat down on my Parents bed.
"What's wrong?" Mom asked me.
"Everything," I said.
She didn't say anything else when she pulled me into an embrace. She already knew.
What could she say?
Nothing. There was nothing to say.
Everything was wrong. The three of us were alone on this path. Every day I woke up still alive was another day in the churn. I was giving everything I had inside me to give. I was giving beyond anything I had ever given before. But it barely felt like enough.
I was trying to save a human being, and I was failing miserably. I was failure and all the people who stood judgment of me all my life, knew it. I couldn't hide it anymore.
She needs HOPE like she needs air
Days Juicing: 31
If you saw Mom, you might be so distracted with how she looks, you'd miss the little sparkle of life. Her expressions are pretty dead-pan. But she still makes jokes, is sarcastic, expresses love. She's actually very funny if you pay attention.
She looks to Dad and I to see how she's doing. And we tell her she's doing great, she's healing. She's already in a dark hole within herself. Mom doesn't need us to focus on and repeatedly convey to her all the things that are wrong. No. She needs HOPE and LOVE.
I always thought and was told, love is the strongest emotion. Now I disagree. Personally, I think HOPE is the strongest. Because I can have love and no hope. But no hope? That is a very black hole that's hard to get free of.
Beets down the hatch
Days Juicing: 32
Mom seems to have more strength walking. No idea why. Other than she's been on the juice over 30 days & we started feeding her nut butters (like almond).
Juice Day 32
3 leaves collard greens
½ cup dandelion greens
6 napa cabbage leaves
10 beet green leaves
1 cup arugula
1 tablespoon ginger root
"You reach a point where worldly possesses no longer hold a sparkle. Because you'd give up all of them to survive another day."
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A HARD RUN INTO HELL Book 4 (EDITING) is the juice worth the squeeze seriesNon-Fiction
I was standing in Hell, burning. I looked over to see my Dad, standing right next to me. He was burning too. We had brought my Mom home from the hospital and care facility, after being diagnosed with Stage 3 cancer and decided not to do chemo, ag...