me worry...?! HAH!

I can give you two versions of my evening. Both are completely truthful. One part is the part I tell myself, and the other part is the longer version, it's the reality and it's the part that scares the living daylights out of me (where the worrying sets in).

After a busy day running around buying last minute gifts and exchanging presents with my roommate, I was on the road to Botha. I stopped quickly in town to purchase some winning lottery tickets and a quick visit with a good friend and then home to mom.

Mom and I had one of our normal nights. I made dinner, we ate, visited, watched a movie and visited some more and opened our presents.

That’s the rosy cheerful version. Short and sweet. The part that makes me worry… The part that is glaringly obvious to me because I have been gone makes me a bit scared.

I did cook supper. But I also had to cut up my mom’s meat, because she couldn’t. We did visit, but her speech isn’t the great, she stumbles more than I remember. We watched a movie, but she slept through most, which isn’t unusual for her… she sleeps on and off all day. She wears a new brace type thing on her hand to help with the pain, that is new, and somehow slipped the daily updates. I could tell she was in more pain that usual, and she actually came out and told me she wasn’t feeling so good. She usually does her best to hide it from me. We opened our presents, or I guess I should say – I opened our presents. Mom couldn’t open hers, so I opened them for her. Then I helped her get changed and into bed, and tucked her in. I flat out asked her who helps her get ready for bed when I am not around, her reply – ‘I do it on my own,’. When I asked how long it takes her, her reply was ‘Some nights a long time, it takes a couple of tries, other nights I sleep in my clothes.’

It breaks my heart.

These would be things that I would have missed had I been living at home, because I would have seen them on a daily basis and been used to it. But I am not here often at all. I just show up for a couple days and leave. It scares me. It worries me to see her MS progressing, even if it is just tiny baby steps, those baby steps turn into baby leaps and baby bounds and that scares me.

I remember when my mom had to cut my meat for me, and when my mom had to help me get ready for bed, and when she would tuck me in, and when she would help me open my presents. I should be used to it by now; I stepped up to the plate in grade three. No one asked me to, no one told me to – I just did it because no one else was around to do it. And I have been the one doing it since in one form or another. I know she has nurses and all that stuff, but when I come home there is always so much for me to do for her. I get frustrated, I am not an only child… neither is my mother… her family is mostly all within a short drive… but nonexistent when it comes to lending a hand. I don’t hate doing what I do. She is my mother, if roles were reversed she would do the same for me, no questions asked. I hate the MS. I hate the fact that there are people that won’t help. I hate the fact that a stupid disease is slowly yet surely taking away the one parent I have left.

I know I did the right thing by going to school, she reminds me of that on a regular basis. But sometimes I wonder if there isn’t something more I could do. It hurts to know that I can’t be the one to fix things, like usual. It hurts to know that I can’t be the one to help when she needs it. Taking care of her is the one thing I know I am good at, I enjoy doing it… all because I love her. BUT I hate seeing her in that much pain… pain even her strongest pain killers won’t take away. I hate seeing her struggle to pull up or take off her own pants. I hate seeing her struggle getting from her recliner to her wheel chair or from the toilet to her wheel chair. All of these things are way out of my control, way beyond my power, and they scare me.
These things make me realize that she is only human, and she has more forces working against her than I like. I still have so much left in my life that I want her to be a part of and the reality is I am scared that she won’t be around to see it all. I know she’s tough. I know she’s strong, but how much can one person take?! She has been fighting for nearly 20 years now. The woman has been through more agony, pain, mourning and loss than anyone I know… and she keeps going. She is my energizer bunny, she is my inspiration, she gives me hope. But when I see all of this, it takes away a bit of that hope, because I know she is struggling.
And if I say something to anyone, they will say I am overreacting, because I have done it before. Some people need to be around her a little more to see what is happening. Not just a quick visit to drop something off or pick something up. Stay for a day, see what she can and can’t do anymore. Open your eyes.

So what do I do?! I help my mom, I do what I can. I promise myself I will come around more often, and I pretend all is alright. I will go to Christmas dinner tomorrow, and be civil to my family, and leave early. I will thank my mom's nurses who I can see have done fantastic work around the house trying to make things easier on mom. But that's all I can do. I can't be her sole caregiver anymore. I can't be the one to fix things. I can't be a miracle worker. I can lend a hand, I can be a friend, and I can listen and offer support when possible. That's all I can do... and I just have to remind myself of that daily.