I hope to sit down one day soon and write about what it’s like to come home to a place like this at a time like this. My mom came home yesterday from the hospital, and it felt very strange to see her. Hard to see her body sunken, her skin once so firm and glowing now hanging from her bones. Her eyes are deeper, darker, wider. Her back bent forward, her steps small, her voice tired. It isn’t easy to see my mom like this. She stood so tall and strong, a granite pillar, a statue of determination and force. In truth I am afraid for what’s to come and I am afraid to hear my mother speak so truthfully about what she thinks is to come. It is not an easy time. But we manage. Because we have to. Because we have no other choice.
Today our day is one of rest and fresh fruit. it is a day of chores for me, bustling around the home trying to make it what it once was: clean, organized, fully stocked. It is a day of smoothies and sweeping. A day where five of us in this house move about each other with care. Today is a day where the little things count: waking up early, talking over coffee, reading cards, talking about plans. Dennis asks if I want a bagel, but before he asks me he asks my step-father. Twice. I cry at that kindness. We agree to having bagels while my mom is in the back room sleeping. The four of us out here together, where we wouldn’t be if things were “normal.” This is how we manage because we have to because we have no other choice.
Only a few words today. They haven’t come easily.