Thursday, November 21, 2013


I have a terrible headache. I've been kind of down for a couple weeks: nausea, tired, headaches. I'm not pregnant; 3 urine and a blood test all failed. 

I'm just not right. It's probably a little anemia, food allergies, vitamins, maybe. 

Today I slept a lot. Then woke up with the headache still punching at my brains. I watched the episode of Buffy called The Body. It's the one where her mom dies. 

Then I watched the kid president's open letter to moms. 

Then I watched a montage video about the first year of a baby born at 3 1/2 months.

Do I have to explain why my nose is runny and my eyes are all puffy?

So. Christmas is coming. My little family is excited to go see grandma and grandpa and cousins in ARIZONA! 

But ... What to do with my mom? 

You know the question, "If you could change anything about your life ..." and most people realize they wouldn't change a thing because all that happened makes them who they are ... God forgive me, but I'd change everything about my mom. 

Oh, to have a mother. Someone who can take care of you, give you good advice, help you out, just love you. The definition of mom mocks me. Laughs in my face as it stomps on my heart. 

We asked if she wanted to go visit her family back in Idaho, but she declined. She's been seeing a lot of doctors. She's diabetic and has been coughing for months. And something about her kidneys. 

I don't have a lot of details, because I can't talk to her. I can't hug her; I usually leave the room when she enters. 

Children don't ask to be born. Loving a parent is not automatic. Duty. Obligation. They don't always equate to love. 

I want to tell people, but it's a despicable quality, to not appreciate the woman who gave you life.  It's ugly. It's wrong. 

I can't improve her quality of life. 

I really long for time when it is just my family, me and my husband and the three miracles. And sometimes I long to be alone. Not for always, but there is something about being all alone in a house that refills my soul. 

I wish everything about her was different. I wish she was smart and competent and healthy and brave. I wish she had goals and dreams and ambitions. I wish she knew how to be sincerely kind and soft and gentle. I wish she could be independent. I wish I could trust her and believe her. I wish she cared enough to take care of herself. I wish she was quiet and helpful. I wish I loved her. 


  1. I hate to be the cliched person who says this but I am honestly here if you want to talk. I want to say more but nothing sounds right. Hang in there.

  2. I too struggle with my feelings toward my mother albeit for completely different reasons. I love her, but sometimes I feel she is less a mother and more just a good acquaintance. I am jealous of those who have adult friendship relationships with their mothers. I guess we all have different life experiences.