her other hand in front,
I pull her up out of the chair. Her whole body shifts to lean on me. Yes,
definitely no shower in days. I turn my head at the stench emanating from her.
We make our way back to her bedroom down a short hall off the side of the
kitchen. I help her sit on the edge of the bed and leave to turn on the shower.
Once it’s warm enough, I lead her into the small bathroom, scarcely big enough
for the two of us to stand in it. Slowly and laboriously I pull her shirt off
over her head and lower her pants, helping her to step out of them.
Once she gains stability, standing there
with only a white bra and panties, both obviously too large on her thin frame,
she barks at me, “Kimber, get out. I can do it. Do you think I’m an invalid or
something?”
My feet move backwards giving her space. My
hands go directly to my sides with clenched fists and I relent, “Okay Momma,
let me know if you need any help.”
She spins toward the shower and snidely
comments, “Don’t you need to go to work?”
I turn around ready to walk out, glancing
back once as she climbs over the side of the tub and pulls the flimsy shower
curtain that is covered in roses, closed. My momma has never been very loving
but now she’s just the opposite if there ever was. I’m not sure she’s even
capable of love anymore. I wonder if I am. Maybe that’s why Andrew left in the
first place. Maybe I couldn’t give him what he needed. As I make my way to my
room across the house, today’s events resurface. He looked so good, nothing
like the eighteen year old boy who left four years ago. He filled out in all
the right places and his chiseled face makes my knees go weak just thinking
about it.
Becca and Heidi may be onto something.
Maybe I just need to get laid and things will look better. That might be an
option I need to explore and possibly in the very near future.
Showered and wrapped in a towel, my foot
finds the threadbare cotton mat spread out on the bathroom floor. Once I’ve
stepped completely out, I hear a curdled scream. My feet move into action
before I can focus on exactly what it is. I head to Momma’s room and find her
sprawled out on the floor. Her feet are splayed at an odd angle. Leaning over
her, only inches from her face, I ask, “Momma, are you alright?”
She stares across the room as if she didn’t
just fall. Concern etches itself across my face, for her health but also for
work. We can’t afford for me to miss a day of work. We’re barely getting by as
it is.
“Here Momma, let me help you up.” I reach
down, allowing her access to my opened hand to help her up. She ignores it
placing her hands by her sides. She attempts with all the strength she has to
push up but gives up after one try. After a minute of watching, I center myself
behind her and gently place my hands under her arms, pulling her up. As she
gains her bearing, she brushes my hands away and yells, “Get out, just get
out.”
I back away once again and head for the
door swallowing a lump in my throat trying to hold back my tears at seeing her
like this. I don’t turn to check on her. She is slowly losing control of her
body and she doesn’t know how to deal with it. That’s what this disease does.
Multiple Sclerosis is a slow killer. Yes, I make sure she takes her meds every
day but she was diagnosed late. The fact that she drinks and smokes doesn’t
help either but I can’t blame her. If I were slowly losing command of my
muscles, I might venture to vices too. It breaks my heart every time this
happens. She has a fall or is unable to grasp something. Her only response is
to lash out her frustrations and I just happen to be the only one around. Jenna
ran away because she couldn’t stand to watch her deteriorate. I can’t really
blame her.
My towel is still wrapped tightly around my
small chest. Entering my room, I glance over at the clock on the bedside table,
5:15. I have exactly forty-five minutes to get dressed, find
I pull her up out of the chair. Her whole body shifts to lean on me. Yes,
definitely no shower in days. I turn my head at the stench emanating from her.
We make our way back to her bedroom down a short hall off the side of the
kitchen. I help her sit on the edge of the bed and leave to turn on the shower.
Once it’s warm enough, I lead her into the small bathroom, scarcely big enough
for the two of us to stand in it. Slowly and laboriously I pull her shirt off
over her head and lower her pants, helping her to step out of them.
Once she gains stability, standing there
with only a white bra and panties, both obviously too large on her thin frame,
she barks at me, “Kimber, get out. I can do it. Do you think I’m an invalid or
something?”
My feet move backwards giving her space. My
hands go directly to my sides with clenched fists and I relent, “Okay Momma,
let me know if you need any help.”
She spins toward the shower and snidely
comments, “Don’t you need to go to work?”
I turn around ready to walk out, glancing
back once as she climbs over the side of the tub and pulls the flimsy shower
curtain that is covered in roses, closed. My momma has never been very loving
but now she’s just the opposite if there ever was. I’m not sure she’s even
capable of love anymore. I wonder if I am. Maybe that’s why Andrew left in the
first place. Maybe I couldn’t give him what he needed. As I make my way to my
room across the house, today’s events resurface. He looked so good, nothing
like the eighteen year old boy who left four years ago. He filled out in all
the right places and his chiseled face makes my knees go weak just thinking
about it.
Becca and Heidi may be onto something.
Maybe I just need to get laid and things will look better. That might be an
option I need to explore and possibly in the very near future.
Showered and wrapped in a towel, my foot
finds the threadbare cotton mat spread out on the bathroom floor. Once I’ve
stepped completely out, I hear a curdled scream. My feet move into action
before I can focus on exactly what it is. I head to Momma’s room and find her
sprawled out on the floor. Her feet are splayed at an odd angle. Leaning over
her, only inches from her face, I ask, “Momma, are you alright?”
She stares across the room as if she didn’t
just fall. Concern etches itself across my face, for her health but also for
work. We can’t afford for me to miss a day of work. We’re barely getting by as
it is.
“Here Momma, let me help you up.” I reach
down, allowing her access to my opened hand to help her up. She ignores it
placing her hands by her sides. She attempts with all the strength she has to
push up but gives up after one try. After a minute of watching, I center myself
behind her and gently place my hands under her arms, pulling her up. As she
gains her bearing, she brushes my hands away and yells, “Get out, just get
out.”
I back away once again and head for the
door swallowing a lump in my throat trying to hold back my tears at seeing her
like this. I don’t turn to check on her. She is slowly losing control of her
body and she doesn’t know how to deal with it. That’s what this disease does.
Multiple Sclerosis is a slow killer. Yes, I make sure she takes her meds every
day but she was diagnosed late. The fact that she drinks and smokes doesn’t
help either but I can’t blame her. If I were slowly losing command of my
muscles, I might venture to vices too. It breaks my heart every time this
happens. She has a fall or is unable to grasp something. Her only response is
to lash out her frustrations and I just happen to be the only one around. Jenna
ran away because she couldn’t stand to watch her deteriorate. I can’t really
blame her.
My towel is still wrapped tightly around my
small chest. Entering my room, I glance over at the clock on the bedside table,
5:15. I have exactly forty-five minutes to get dressed, find
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