What started out as a good day, actually already turned south the day before. At the grocery store, I saw a cute tiny pillow, picturing two kitties I thought could bring joy to Mom. I bought it, along with a few cans of cat food for Bember. Yes we have approached that level, and although I still don’t feed her regularly so she is not fully dependent on me when I leave, she does come for cuddles and food. Mostly, I think she enjoys the company, and so do I, it’s a win win situation.
All is still good and things are ok, besides the RA pain. I am on steroid meds now, emergency pills prescribed from my doctor last year, that I luckily never needed. Day two, and not much has changed, I’m still hurting a lot and a few more doses are required at minimum.
I finally get home after being drilled by the neighbor lady, who has intercepted me and wants to know Mom’s condition. The entire town will know within a day or two, and I know no matter how carefully I choose my words, there us also the element of making things up to make the story more interesting. I think it happens everywhere, but especially in a small village like this. That’s just one of the perks I guess. Thirty minutes later, I finally break free, so I can tend to my chores and eat afterwards. I multitask, putting the groceries away in record speed as one of the cat food cans escapes me in the giant four level stairwell. I hear it rolling, unable to catch it, followed by the loud impact on the flight downstairs. I brace myself. More rolling, and a further impact all the way down to the cellar. Shit…I’m afraid what is waiting on me. I slowly approach, and notice a few splatters on the first marble step (Mom’s marble pride) and a little chip from the impact of where the can landed. I’m nearly panicking, but I can’t lose it just yet. God knows what happened, and what I’d find on the next flight. Although the distance is shorter, and I’m not worried for more damage to the stairs, (thank God) I don’t like to go down the old stone cellar where huge spiders live. My mind is getting the better of me, and I can literally hear the enjoyment with visions of my demise. Pictures flash in front of my eyes of the can exploded and splattered all over. I do not want to spend extra time in the place of horror that I usually avoid at most cost. Luckily there are only a few chunks and cleanup is quick. I feel a few webs and I’m grossed out, finally I make my way back to the apartment, while still in disbelief and telling myself to get a grip.
But not all has ended just yet and later in bed, I’m losing sleep over the little chip in the stairs, wondering if I can fill it with silicone, some clear hardener or something to make it go away. The next morning as I leave to go visit Mom, I look, but can’t find the chip. I’m sure it’s there and hasn’t vanished, but it’s not that obvious, so why am I so worried about? Perhaps the fact that it is there, that I damaged it, that her thoughts of me are confirmed, and that I disappointed her once more. I know that these thoughts are mainly produced by my own ego, who relentlessly is continuing the effort to torture myself. I already scratched her frying pan, something that has never happened to me at home. Unreal, and I’m almost terrified of touching things, of breaking things, things that are hers and that she has cared for, for many years. It took me to come here to get the job done. I know you might think “Don’t be so hard on yourself, it’s only material things”. I know, it’s just out of the ordinary and I’m learning that the more careful I am, the better the chances of it actually breaking.
I bring the kitty pillow and Mom is delighted. She is in love with it and shows it to every nurse that comes in. I am the hero and heaven forbid I tell her about the stairs and what happened the night before. About that small chip I can’t even find anymore. She’s been taking care of these stairs for 44 years and I manage to chip them within 6 month. Overall it’s a good day until Mom wants me to make the pillow back home to add to the rest of the museum. She doesn’t want it to get dirty or touched by everyone, she wants to preserve it forever, and it’s meant to sit on the couch, that is never used to collect dust. I want it to bring her joy “now” and not from her imagination of picturing it sitting at home while she is not there. I want her to touch it, to use, that’s why I bought it. She wants to pay me to get another, to add to that collection on the couch as well. She is not planning on staying at the nursing home, and she is gonna tell me in good faith that I better get her out of there, she tells me. Things go south quickly, as silence falls to prevent further insults. I swallow a few times and start to distract her. I talk normally to her as if nothing happened, and I change the subject, I tickle her, and steal the hugs and kisses she is not willing to give me. I bring the light once more, and although we didn’t leave on the happiest of terms, we are not angry at each other. A little heaviness still lingers and can be felt, but it’s nothing like it was in prior times. Take good care of my house, you never know with you she adds, as I walk towards the door. I don’t respond much and leave in silence. I feel reprimanded and like a child. Something she does when she is still wounded.
Back at home Bember is patiently waiting to be fed. I try once more to balance the cat food, my phone, eye glasses and ice cream I’m planning to enjoy. Apparently I haven’t learned my lesson from the night before, and already forgot the can incident where disaster was striking from having your hands full, trying to multitask. I’m trying to open the blind, and pull the robe with one hand. I know I need a little extra strengths doing it with only one arm, as it nearly jumps out of the wall and leaves the blind stuck in the up, open position. I didn’t pull that hard, but I know I pulled a little quicker which has now left too much slack in the cord, and the blind stuck. I try to pull it down from the outside, no response, nothing. It won’t budge. Great….I’m on a roll…literally. I’m not happy about not being able to arm the castle (Mom’s House) a 100%. and I feel vulnerable being alone. I wedge my hiking stick under the door lock, what else is a girl to do. First thing tomorrow, some calls will be made, and hopefully get answered quickly for speedy repairs.
PS. The blind was broken already, but still functional. It won’t matter, and in Mom’s eyes it was me who broke it in the end. Maybe I just forget to mention that as well!