copyright 2018 Chris Smith All rights reserved.
I looked at my watch. It was after 11 a.m. I needed fuel. Time to make another simple breakfast, an egg frittata with greens. I turned on the T.V. and sat in my chair to eat. I should be rushing around doing stuff, checking my phone, and returning emails. But I needed to make myself slow down or I wouldn't last.
When I'd finished and cleaned up the kitchen, I went back upstairs to do my therapy. I was in a daze with nothing to do and zero motivation to do it. Therapy normally took me thirty minutes. Today it took me over an hour. I kept stopping during my routine to stare blankly off into space.
I checked emails to read the responses people had sent during the morning. I didn't respond though and the damn phone continued to blink with notifications all afternoon. There would be a backlog of emails.
I was "On Call" to twenty new bosses. I understood the need for them to know what was going on. But it was making me want to tear out my hair and scream into a megaphone simultaneously while I ran up and down our private road with with one arm flailing about.
The neighbors' response would be, "Oh look. It's Chris again! Gosh that girl can run! Look at those buns run! YOU GO GUURRRLLL!"
Dad came home in the afternoon. He seemed dazed too.
"Did you get any sleep?" I asked.
"Not much," Dad said.
Dad sat on their bed in the living room and downloaded everything going on at the Hospital. His face was drawn. The Doctors didn't have any answers. They must have a huge checklist to go through.
"The nurses love Mom," Dad said.
"Have they seen the dark side yet?" I asked.
"They can't believe how good I am with her," Dad said.
Yeah, right now it was going okay. Mom was being angel compliant. Pretty soon her head would spin around and she'd be shooting green pea soup out of her mouth. Then the shit would hit the fan. The nurses would witness first hand the other side of Mom. THE DARK SIDE. (insert scary music)
I smiled. Out of all the people on the planet, if Mom was going to consider anyone's suggestions, it would be my Dad's. There was no one else who came close.
Me, she eyed regularly with suspicion. Sometimes perhaps even hate. If nothing else, major disapproval. I failed her. I failed to measure up to the predetermined daughter standard. I was the daughter she got. But not the one she wanted. For sure, not the daughter she ordered. Mom's rebellion from the standard in her own family and the pressure she put on me to conform was ironic.
I was born, allegedly, to submit. It was my job. It was probably the only reason Mom didn't give me away as a baby. Daughters are good for chores. I was supposed to wait on my hands and knees for Mom's daily instruction and chore list. I was supposed to be on call at the drop of a hat. My whole meaning for living was to be of service for everyone else. Especially for my Dad, when she was tired.
When Mom didn't want to cook, I was supposed to immediately stand in. When my Dad needed a snack, I was supposed to be the one to provide it. When the bathroom needed to be cleaned or the laundry done, I was supposed to be the one. I wasn't a daughter as much as a servant. I should know by place and I if I didn't, Mom didn't hesitate to point it out to me daily.
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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...