My mother is dying. Not a great thing to bring up in conversation or share at a party, but it is the truth. It effects everything I think and feel and do. It makes me angry, sad, mad, emotional, and vulnerable. It makes me yell at dogs, slam doors, avoid people and cry at the slightest offense.
Keeping up keeping up is exhausting but I want to do a good job at being a good daughter. I love her and feel a sense of history passing that I want to preserve and hold on to. I am not ready to be parentless; are we ever ready to be parentless?
It is the hardest thing I've ever done and in some way it seems to be a test that you are always preparing for yet never ready to take. It is a lesson in character, fortitude, love, purpose, thoughtfulness and I have no effect on the outcome. In helping her, I help myself; in preparing her I prepare myself; in loving her, I learn to love myself. Even while she is fading she is teaching me.
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