If I Could Text My Mother
As my mother continues to deteriorate, there are days–more often than not of late–that I wish I could text her.
Neuropathy has made her fingers nearly useless, so that is not a possibility.
If we could text, I might be able to hear her words through the tears. Hear her fears and comfort her without emotion.
I’d be able to tell her that she has become everything she didn’t want to become. Dependent–life prolonged (if you could call it life), even though she has to me she’s done fighting.
There are days I feel as if I’m fighting harder to keep her alive than she is.
“I’m tired of fighting,” she said.
And I’m tired of fighting with you.
I cringe when I see your area code appear on my phone because I know it is your caretaker, a doctor, the facility or-even worse- you calling to tell me what the most recent calamity is.
You have fought harder than anyone I know.
You have interrupted meetings, deals, dinners, sleep, time alone.
If I could put you out of your misery I would.
I love you. I hate you. I will miss you.
I am the 50+-ish only son an elderly mother who live 1,500 miles away in an assisted living facility.
