In Support

I waited till it was light out to write this. I waited till my mood was magnesium bright. What I'm trying to write is hard and that's an understatement. If I tried to start this when I was upset, I would break down in to tears before ever getting to the second sentence.

I don't know anyone else out there that has a family member with chronic health problems - with debilitating issues that overshadow everything else. I'm sure if I did, they would agree that its stressful and lonely and exhausting. Maybe they look at other families that don't have these problems with the same wistful feeling I do sometimes. Can't be sure.

I feel like I live in two circles. My small family of myself, Andrew and Aida comprise the inner circle and it's glorious. No stress, no worries. We count our blessings until they are too numerous to count further. The inner circle becomes more amazing when you consider it was created despite of the circle that surrounds it. It's like an oasis in a wasteland or more accurately, a miracle in a curse. That second circle, the one that can't touch but surrounds my family is the circle that is my mom's illness.

I remember I was on Facebook one day, looking through my cousins family vacation. The strangest feeling came over me. A similar feeling arrests me every time someone posts about the support they are given by their moms. It is a feeling of nostalgia. Back right when I started college. Back before things began to slip away at a crawling death speed. It started with bad days once in a few months. Bad weeks fell in to bad months. Months in to years that eat away hope and normality. Calls that should have sent my heart stopping throw me instead in to numb expectancy. "Mom's in the hospital...again."

I've given up on hope that some doctor some where will give us that magical answer we had held out for years ago. That there would be some pill or treatment that would stop the destruction of my mom. The therapies hold out the lies that are a few good days. For an hour, I see my mom, smiling and seemingly capable and I hold on to these memories. I try to use them to wash away the building tide. My mom isn't the person that cries all the time and shakes and looks at you without seeing you. My mom isn't the one that gets so upset she can't string two thoughts together because there was a missed call from her office. My mom, my real mom, is the one that reads Aida stories and offers to help me around the house, even though I know that maybe in an hour or a day or a moment, she will be gone again.

I marvel at her strength. Maybe in her position I couldn't fight as long as she has. My siblings comfort her saying over and over, once this new medicine.. once we get this done... we'll email the doctor, ask about this... it's an empty hope that we only believe on our best days anymore.

I'm crying and I told myself I'd stop if I couldn't write this detached because I endanger my writing with self pity and that's not what I want.