Having a tough day physically which has led to some dark thoughts.
Tomorrow would have been mom’s 93rd birthday.
I should be feeling some kind of significance in that
But at the moment, I’m not.
I’m too wrapped up in my life,
My current misery of a bad reaction to a flu shot,
My day-to-day solitary existence,
Unrequited love,
And.whatever else I tend to focus on when it is all about me,
whether it is fiction or fact.
I could argue that it should always be about me,
After all, there’s no one else nearby who cares about me enough
to Take care of me,
No one to fuss over me when I need fussing,
No one to tell me to get a grip when I need a reality check,
No one to buy groceries when I can barely move,
No one to make me a cup of tea or heat up leftovers.
No one but me to cook, clean, comfort, and love me.
No one but me to endure the holiday greetings
And questions about trees and families and feasts.
I’m not sure how thinking about mom’s birthday brought me
to such a cold assessment of my existence.
I guess I’m just feeling sorry for myself,
Wearing three layers and I can’t get warm.
My back aches, my hands and hair are too dry
And I can’t play on my day off.
Friends and family,
The two themes that suck me into
periods of self reflection and depression.
They sucked my mom in too.
She had so many friends,
And then she had none.
All she had was family,
And as it became harder to stay in touch,
And the close cousins began to die,
She lost a big part of her heart.
And shuttered herself.
Then the memories got confused
and her capacity to communicate
diminished.
Until she was finally able to
be at peace.
Sleep well, mom.
