Sticks and Stones

For the first time since my mother had her stroke, but not the first time in 44 years, her words made me cry.  I'm not an overly emotional 14 year old, I'm a very tired 44 year old.  I have not had a good nights sleep in months. I have been at her beck and call, jumping at every moan and groan, fixing meals, cleaning house, changing sheets, wiping up spills, dispersing drugs, getting up at 5am, laying down (but not sleeping) at 1am.  I'm not doing it for any recognition, not doing it for any praise, not doing it for any monetary reward.  I'm doing it because she is my mother.

But today, she told me I was too impatient to care for her.  It was a shock to hear that the only person who has been with her day and night for months, is not up to her expectations.  As much as I tried not to have it impact me, as much as I know its a result of the stroke and the pain, it hurt.  And as soon as I had finished dressing and feeding her, I left the room and cried.  Not grown up martyr tears that slide cool and quietly down your face,  but the deep heavy tears of a hurt child, hot and sobbing.

But I remind myself, this is not my life....this is just Wednesday, May 11, 2011.

Time Passes

My father would have been 71 years old this year, but we just experienced the 2nd anniversary of his death, instead of celebrating his birthday.  Its been a difficult couple of weeks since his birthday and his death were just a few days apart.  My mother has spent a lot of time reminiscing about him, and I've heard stories about their courtship I've never heard before.  Its been a painful learning experience.

I am definitely a daddy's girl, even when I reached my forties, and had been married and divorced and the mother of two teenagers, I was still "Little Girl" to him.  I miss him.