I held it together today. I held it together yesterday, too. Mostly. I held it together while I watched my mother suffer the unexpected complications from her surgery – the endless vomiting, the weight that falls off her by the minute, the bony fragility of her once strong frame, new tubes being inserted into every orifice, injections causing bruises on every part of her body, her looking grey and awful and feeling terrible, not the woman I know.
I held it together until the stupid windscreen washer man harassed me at the traffic lights. I told him no, I didn’t want my windscreen washed. But he squirted my car with soap anyway. I lost it. I swore at him and told him to “Just get away from the f***ing car.”
I guess that was the proverbial straw.
I’m scared. I’ve never seen my mother this sick before. It breaks my heart to see a once mentally and physically strong woman almost broken. I don’t want her to be so sick, let alone to die, and I’m not sure I can take losing the only good parent I’ve got so soon after the other one. It’s just wrong. All so wrong.