�All the world�s a stage and most of us are desperately unrehearsed.� � Sean O�Casey, playwright (1880-1964)

We just brought my mother home from the hospital. Operation went fine, Heather and I were there all day yesterday, into the evening. I feel so exhausted, so drained. After we left last night, to go have dinner with Jane and Dad, I hardly had the energy to eat. We talked about our plan, our intervention scheme, how we�re going to get Mom back to the hospital, how we�re going to get her to do what she needs to do in order to regain some semblance of health. We were scolded by the surgeon. �I don�t understand,� he said. �Why does she not take care of herself? I can tell just by looking at her that she doesn�t take care of herself� at all.�

We know, we know, we said. Severe anemia. Paper-thin muscle tissue. Malnourished, no iron, no nutrients, the list went on and on. Jane and Heather planned and planned, they talked about their approach, how we, the daughters, would each take a part in helping, in guiding, in pushing.

While we were waiting for the check, the date set for MI (mom intervention, we have a code for everything), the plans made, Dad having given his advice and promise of support, I started to cry. Immediately, attention turned my way, what�s wrong, what is it, as they all spoke at the same time: �Barb has a different relationship with your mother than the rest of you� � �It was a really tough day for us today� � �She�s tired, she�s drained,� she�s this, she�s that, the words rang together, a cacophony of concern. I wasn�t seeking attention. I couldn�t put my finger on my emotions. So finally, I cut them off by saying, �I fear my apathy. I�m to the point where it�s just so much easier not to care than it is TO care. I don�t want to feel this way, but as I sense myself reverting to it over and over, my guilt grows as the rest of you get more involved and all I want to do is back away.�

I don�t want to not care. I�m so conflicted right now. I feel bad for her, I feel as if I need to convince her that I love her as much as my sisters do, even though I'm living with the man who left her. That's a completely separate entry, by the way. My mother's issues with me regarding my father. The blame she placed on me when he left, the anger directed at me because he's still gone. Projection? Too much to deal with right now, one step at a time and we haven't convinced her to seek therapy. I�m leaving here as soon as I finish typing this entry. Going back home, to my place, to my dad�s place, to where my beautiful panther-kitties are waiting for me in my bedroom. Where I don�t have to think about how I should feel versus how I DO feel, because there is nothing immediately present for me to feel anything about.

I do not want this to turn into some kind of fucking melodramatic family upset competition thing. I don�t want us to be measured, who�s the most upset, who doesn�t seem to care. My mother asked why I couldn�t stay here for a few days. It�s not like I�m working right now. Or doing anything else, for that matter. I said that it was out of the question, and you know what my fucking reason was? �Because.� That�s why.

And I didn�t feel bad. And that makes me feel horrible. So I�m just not going to feel anymore, not for now. I�m honestly too tired, so emotionally exhausted that I don�t want to deal. I�m going to rest my thoughts, go home, take a shower and go out. It�s a good thing I painted my nails for New Year�s Eve, I had something to pick at all day yesterday, sitting in the hospital. So perhaps I�ll take care of those beauties too, before showing myself publicly. I just� I just don�t want to think anymore.

-Barbarella

previous | next