Taking care of my mom is draining, emotionally, mentally, physically…..all types of “ally”. People can say, “I understand what you’re going through”, but there’s no possible way. The things I don’t get to share are the things that eat me alive.
Crushing her pills and opening capsules to mix and pour into her feeding tube with sterilized water and Glucerna shakes. I feel bad when I cook dinner for the rest of us to eat, knowing she can’t. I won’t even eat food around her. No one knows how my brother has to hold my mom down by her shoulders so that she can have a bowel movement. She doesn’t have the muscle to push on her own and of course she cant wipe herself, so I take care of that, glove on hand and afterwards applying ointment to her bedsores.
I hate that my brothers have to see her body, and I’m sure she’s lost all sense of dignity with them having to see her breasts, behind and vagina on a daily basis. I’m sure it was uncomfortable for them at first, but now it’s second nature. Every time she coughs, I feel like she’s going to die. She’s choking on her saliva everyday because she no longer has muscle in her throat to cough it up. It sounds horrible and I never know what to do. I watch them push a tube down her throat the suck the spit out and it’s very painful to watch.
I hate coming home after a week and something being drastically different with her health. My mom was about 220lbs. She’s probably lost 100lbs now or damn close to it. I feel inferior to the nurses at times because they spend more time with her than I do at this point. I once was showing everyone else how to do certain things for her, and now they’re showing or telling me. I feel like they look down at me for having “left”. I have to remind myself that they don’t know me or what I’ve been and am going through. I hate the fact that I’ve lost that sense of being in charge/control. When I do come home, I struggle with being around her. I can’t imagine how that makes her feel. She tries to force me to do things… I know it’s not to torture me, but that she wants the bonding experience. It’s too hard for me though. I bail as soon as I get the chance. It’s too much. This is my best friend we’re talking about here.
There’s times when she gets really mean because she’s ill, and I feel 12 again…and abused, and hurt and mistreated, and taken advantage of, and disrespected and hated. Those feelings are part of the reason why I left. I still harbored some resentment from my childhood toward her that she in her illness doesn’t deserve to have to feel. We love each other better from a distance. For the sake of my sanity I needed to leave as well. I was losing it. And after my last situationship and losing my baby, I for sure knew I couldn’t handle those demons on a daily basis…constant reminders of the ruins of my life. It was best. I love my mom, but I love my life too. I needed to have one. Her illness was taking mine too.
I feel bad when I look pretty…Like I shouldn’t because she doesn’t feel pretty anymore. “I used to be pretty. I used to be sexy.” That is STILL the most heartbreaking thing I’ve ever heard my mom say. She just handed over her confidence. It was humbling and vain at the same time and she had to just give her womanhood away in 5 words. So, when I come home, I try to look regular. I don’t let her see me with my hair or eyebrows done if I can help it. I don’t know if it’ll make her sad. If I accomplish something or do well or get excited about anything, I keep it to myself. I don’t know if she will envy it or get angry with me for moving on with my life. THAT sucks…not being able to share things with your best friend. Feeling BAD for doing GOOD. Putting my life on halt to spare her feelings but…..she’s dying. I’m not. And I don’t want to. And she was making me die with her.
Who I feel for and pray for the most is B. This ain’t fair at all on his end. Good kid. Hasn’t done anything wrong to deserve the shit he’s been through in just 15 years. I wish I could rescue him. I wish I could take all his pain away. I love the boy way more than he realizes. My hurt isn’t as much for me as it is for him and the person all this tragedy is going to turn him into. I hate to see such a warm, loving, kind-hearted, sweet boy, my baby boy…the one I took care of as my own child because my mom wasn’t there, turn into something dangerous or harm himself somehow due to all this sadness surrounding him. I look at him and I see a 6 year old kid with so much energy and imagination and always having a smile on his face…except when he was crying like a lil punk cuz I hit him or he got a scar on his leg and was bleeding. I miss that kid….I think I finally understand when my aunt says she looks at me and sees the 4yr old me. That’s what I see when I look at B. I think about those weeks after dad died that he would just burst out into a screaming wailing cry out of nowhere, ANYWHERE, because he realized that he hasn’t seen dad. I don’t think he had a grasp on death…he just knows he hasn’t seen him in a long time. God, thinking about that shit hurts. Seeing him hurt, hurts.
I get sick of being the “strong” one. I’m not strong. I’ve just accepted that I have no say in God’s will and try to live with it. There’s more, I just can’t tonight. Thinking about it “Too Much’.