You notice how when people say to you: “How’s your [insert mom / dad / kids / husband name here]?” they are only interested with the first sentence you give them?
Try explaining further to that and you’ll see their eyes start to glaze, they check their handphone, play with their hair etc.
Thing is, when people ask that question, they are just being nice.
Truth is, they don’t really care about the answer.
That’s probably why I don’t really like talking about my mother. The best I could muster is “she’s getting better, I suppose” and I try not to delve further into that.
My pretty mother is now bedridden with bedsores, her right hand stiffen into a punch due to her stroke, her face twitches because of Parkinson, her feet are cold, her high blood pressure causes epilepsy, she can’t eat, she can hardly talk, and no amount of tears and medicines can bring her back to what she was few years back.
That’s the real story.
Wow, re-reading this makes me sound like I’m angry at the Universe. I’m not. Maybe a little. I am coming into terms that this is the fate that is written for my mother, who has been our pillar of strength and the silent rock for us since the very beginning. For now we can only make her comfortable as much as we can, shower her with our love and hopefully it will ease her pain. My mother has suffered so much, I just want her to feel better soon.
