Thursday, July 11, 2013
October 23, later
Damn, what a day. Mom woke from a nap, looked at me sitting next to her, and started to cry.
I was leaning over her in an instant. “Mom? Mom, are you hurting?”
Her voice all slurry, she said, “No. No, Shalia. I’m so sad.”
“Why Mom? What’s wrong?”
“You’ve been such a good daughter, Shalia. I don’t deserve you.”
It took a few seconds for me to decipher what she was saying, because she was still having trouble talking. Then I realized that Mom was lucid. The dementia had receded, leaving me with depressed Eve.
“Don’t be silly, Mom. You know I love you.”
“I know, but I’ve been so mean so many times. I don’t want to be. I love you, Shalia. I want to be a good mother.”
Usually when she’s like this, it’s time to hide any pills in the house along with the sharp objects. But Mom couldn’t move and couldn’t act on her overwhelming guilt. Is it wrong that I was kind of grateful for the stroke that was keeping her safe from herself? Probably.
I think she bawled for a good five minutes, apologizing to me all the time. Begging me to tell her it wasn’t too late for us to repair our relationship. As all the times before, it was heartbreaking. But before, I’d had no real hope she would get better enough for us to be a real mother and daughter.
Now there was Kalquor. No guarantees, but a strong ‘maybe’ I would finally get the mother I was supposed to have. When she slipped back into her dementia state, I hung onto that. They could make her better. They could erase the effects of the stroke, reverse the dementia, remove her bipolar illness.
It sounds like a tall order. I know it some or all of it might not happen. But there’s a chance, and that’s more than we had before.
Jeez, I need my life to not be so complicated. Can I get a break, please?