Stroke Time

Raym ribbed me the other day about not blogging, I acknowledge that my entries are lagging.  I have nothing to say that I am interested in sharing publicly.  This is the most profound time in my life to date and I need my own time to process all that is happening.

It is my pleasure and my honor to care for Mom, she deserves the Sundays spent juicing, the power juice concoctions I create every couple of days, and every single feeding. She deserves the poop watches, nightly pee checks every couple of hours and every change of her britches. She deserves all the hemp balm massages, the soft words of love and the hours of hand holding. She deserves every tooth and hair brushing.  I begrudge her none of this time, none of this effort to keep her healthy and comfortable. She is my mother and I love her on a level so deep there are no words of adequate description, yet I cannot help her and this for me, is devastating.

I do not want to discuss this devastation, I have too much to do, and if I dwell on it for any length of time, I lose my shit, and I do not have time to be distracted. I have assumed responsibility for the care of my mother, who is falling into death as fast as I will allow her to go.  She rolls her eyes every time I feed  her, she refuses to get out of bed, and is, in fact, curling into the fetal position to her right side.  I massage her straight or sort of straight and I come back in an hour later and she has curled herself up to her right side tucked position. I sleep knowing at least she is being well taken care of.

She hardly tries to talk anymore, and if she makes noise, it is this god awful moaning cry in varying levels.  I listen for the moaning over the ever present droning on of the game show network and would like to put a gun to my head every time I hear the Family Feud theme song. Very much akin to the sound of Mario Brothers in the 90s.

There is no doubt in my mind that Mom wants to die.  She tolerates my efforts to inspire her, but rarely smiles, and in her effort to escape, she sleeps most of the time. I let her.  Who am I to tell her she shouldn't? I know if I was living her existence right now, I would want out. I can't let her out,  because I'll go to jail, so I let her sleep, as she curses me for breaking my promise.

Stroke time is long and slow.  My hope for any form of  recovery is hanging on by a thread, and I won't be writing about it in this form anymore, quit checking for something new. There's nothing new. If you want to know what's going on you can text me, otherwise, I'm signing off.