I haven’t written much since the end of the trial process. Since January my mother’s health has rapidly deteriorated, rocketing me quickly into the role of full time caregiving. It’s easy to get crushed under such a role. Every day is the same, and it’s hard to find the time to go anywhere or do anything. This is not a good situation for someone who is already trying to deal with depression and post traumatic stress. It got to the point where I slept when she slept and then took care of her needs while she was awake. I think I only saw the sun when I took the dogs outside. I went home after she went to bed, and tried to get back up to the house around the time Mala had to leave for work. I didn’t think or read or talk to anyone.
The last few weeks, Mother has been in the hospital. She had a series of falls attributed to mini strokes, and we are hoping that rehab can at least give her enough strength to help move herself from the bed to a wheelchair. At the moment it takes 2 aides to move her, and I can’t lift her by myself if she doesn’t improve. A trip to the emergency room has turned into 3 weeks in a convalescent facility, and no knowing when she will be released. Or even if she can ever be considered safe to stay at home.
During this time I have finally had a moment to catch my breath. I can think about the end of the trial, and set it aside. Without the need to steel myself for another hearing or the constant need to care for Mother, I find myself thinking more and more about the boys… not about how they died or about Manling, but about how they lived, and who they were and how much I love them. I miss them desperately. I ache to feel them in my arms. It hurts. And it’s lonely. Monkey.