“Can’t take the kid from the fight….take the fight from of the kid.”

November 23, 2013 at 10:47 pm (Uncategorized)

I’ve been protective over my mom ever since I was a little girl. One of my earliest memories is Christmas Eve when I was four years old; it was 1992.  My memory isn’t very clear anymore, but I remember my dad had been drunk and was beating the crap out of my mother.  When he finally passed out, my mom was almost unconscious.  I remember running to the front room and grabbing the container that held the long matchsticks used to light the fireplace and throwing them at my dad.  It didn’t really do anything-what physical strength does a four year old have? –but it was the principle of the matter.  Somebody was hurting my mom and that just wasn’t gonna fly with me.

For most of my life, the relationship between my mother and I has always been reversed.  I was her confidant, her therapist, her mom.  When something from her past was making her cry, I held her.  When she passed out drunk, I put a blanket over her and tucked myself into bed, since I technically was still young enough to have a bedtime.  As I’ve gotten older I’ve done my best to protect her from the hardships of life.  I’ve taken so many calls from her, crying that her boyfriend beat her, or a “friend” was taking advantage of her, or that life was just too much and she was just so, so tired of trying anymore.  I’ve listened and soothed her the best I could.  I did whatever was in my power to protect her, even when it was from herself.

I’ve always protected her.  I’ve always cradled her in my heart, trying to shield the world from her.

And now she and I have come to an instance where I am powerless. I cannot do a thing but hold her and tell her I love her and that she’ll be fine, when I have no clue what will happen.

My mom is dying.

She’s dying, and I can’t hold her hand and try to make this final journey for her any easier.  I can’t do anything but just watch as my mom slowly fades away, going somewhere I can’t follow along, at least not now. I can’t ease her pain. Morphine can ease the physical, but the emotional…I can’t even help with that.  Her mind is already mostly somewhere else.  Her brief moments of lucidness are spent with me smiling at her and asking if she’s comfortable.  I can’t bear for her to be in any more pain.  My god, she’s had enough of that.

I have to stop writing, I’m going to start sobbing.

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