copyright 2018 Chris Smith All rights reserved.
"My tears pooling
around my feet in empty regard
your hands grasp
mine in sorrow."
I woke up to an empty house. I hadn't slept long or deep enough. I made my way downstairs, wandering around in a daze.
I hadn't received any texts in the night. Dad was still slugging it out at the Hospital. The masses would want an update too. I had no idea how I wanted to do updates. My poor phone was already blinking pretty notification lights. Blinking phones were a joy killer as far as I was concerned.
My entire routine was shot. I tried to give Mom the will to want to live. The days I had spent caring for the Old-Battle-Axe, trying to get her to eat and go for a walk outside were gone.
To say it had been a fruitless task, akin to swimming upstream while she tried to swim the opposite direction, would be the under-fucking-statement of the world. Some days she battled me. She'd become a quite the bully in her senior years. It reminded me of numerous experiences with her father, my Grandfather, and my Dad's mom, my Grandma.
Funny. Mom was only one who could manage my Dad's Mom, my Grandma, when Grandma came to stay with us for three weeks years ago. Grandma was mean. Moody. Bitchy.
Grandma was not what one would categorize as a helpful or kind house guest. If Grandma was on Yelp, she would not receive good ratings or positive feedback. But Mom handled Grandma and her moods like Grandma was a mere child. Mom put the Witch to work and didn't take any backtalk.
How did Mom do it?
I have no idea. But Dad and I stood back in total shock and awe of Mom's abilities.
My Dad wanted to choke his own Mother out. I can't say as I blame him. I'm pretty sure he'd have to take a number and stand in line. Grandma was not a happy woman. She was smart, genius intelligence, destroyed people in scrabble, and had an incredible sense of humor. But she was another unfulfilled human to list on the family Christmas card.
When Dad was a kid, Grandpa wrangled up Grandma's cats periodically and dropped them off at the dump, forever. I don't know how many cats he dumped. I wanted to, more than once, pack up Grandma and drop her off. Somewhere. Anywhere but our domicile. She disrupted the entire energy of our house.
These days Mom spewed hate as if she was handing out candy. Since I was the one at home dealing with her, I got the brunt of it. I want to say, it didn't faze me. I want to lie, and tell you I was strong enough to be above it. The truth was I had been reduced to a child beaten down by the mean spirit of my own Mom. There would be no comfort offered. Mom was at war with everyone and everything around her.
Emma: How is she this a.m.?
Me: Better. 3 L of blood. tons of potassium....they're highly concerned about her blood work & chemical imbalances...they say her issues are critical.
Emma: They going to keep her longer?
Me: Yes. They're a bit perplexed by her issues and her low acid levels..that cannot be accounted for (no vomiting). they're going to do a lot more tests.
Emma: What a trip. You doing okay?
Me: Got home late. Stayed up late..eating...doing therapy...
Hanging in there..expecting miracles. Lol
I let my legs carry me outside. I hadn't been outside for a walk by myself in months. Then I ran into our next door neighbor, Carl. He loved Mom dearly.
YOU ARE READING
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...