Sandwiched
Dear Lorenzo,
It's 5:55 p.m. and I'm sitting at the dining room table, watching this week's episode of Mixed-ish, drinking a cup of tea and sharing a handful of baby carrots with Butters. I'm supposed to be helping Amira with her homework right now but that's impossible to do since your daughter's ASLEEP. (Try as I might, I have NOT been able to get this kid back to her regular bedtime since the stay at home order began).
It's been a relatively quiet day. Work was busy but not overwhelming and with Amira comfortable on her own attending her online classes, I didn't feel the pressure to juggle her work with my own.
Or with my mother's.
This year my mother will be 77 years old and it's beginning to show. Don't get me wrong, she's still the same woman who loves gossiping, watching 90 Day Fiance and complaining but...she's getting forgetful. Nothing major. She still knows who we are and where we live and what day of the week it is but...it's the little things.
The cracks are starting to show.
I have to help her in ways I didn't used to. Like with her banking and grocery shopping. Mind you, some of this stuff is because of technology. Like many seniors she doesn't know what a Smartphone is let alone have one, so the idea of depositing a check by taking a picture of it is foreign to her. I've begun to order her groceries on Amazon so she doesn't have to deal with placing the order herself. I check her bank balances and tell her which checks have cleared and which haven't. If she needs ANYTHING I find a way to get it for her, despite being so far away. She's my mother, and she's the best mother I could have ever asked for but...I can't lie, Lorenzo, seeing her like this now...it hurts. Don't get me wrong, I know this could be MUCH, MUCH worse so I am not complaining, I'm just...letting you know what's going on. For the past 12 years that's what I've done. I've shared every detail of my life with you. Even the ones, hell, especially the ones, I didn't want to talk about.
Even your death can't deter me from that.
It's 5:55 p.m. and I'm sitting at the dining room table, watching this week's episode of Mixed-ish, drinking a cup of tea and sharing a handful of baby carrots with Butters. I'm supposed to be helping Amira with her homework right now but that's impossible to do since your daughter's ASLEEP. (Try as I might, I have NOT been able to get this kid back to her regular bedtime since the stay at home order began).
It's been a relatively quiet day. Work was busy but not overwhelming and with Amira comfortable on her own attending her online classes, I didn't feel the pressure to juggle her work with my own.
Or with my mother's.
This year my mother will be 77 years old and it's beginning to show. Don't get me wrong, she's still the same woman who loves gossiping, watching 90 Day Fiance and complaining but...she's getting forgetful. Nothing major. She still knows who we are and where we live and what day of the week it is but...it's the little things.
The cracks are starting to show.
I have to help her in ways I didn't used to. Like with her banking and grocery shopping. Mind you, some of this stuff is because of technology. Like many seniors she doesn't know what a Smartphone is let alone have one, so the idea of depositing a check by taking a picture of it is foreign to her. I've begun to order her groceries on Amazon so she doesn't have to deal with placing the order herself. I check her bank balances and tell her which checks have cleared and which haven't. If she needs ANYTHING I find a way to get it for her, despite being so far away. She's my mother, and she's the best mother I could have ever asked for but...I can't lie, Lorenzo, seeing her like this now...it hurts. Don't get me wrong, I know this could be MUCH, MUCH worse so I am not complaining, I'm just...letting you know what's going on. For the past 12 years that's what I've done. I've shared every detail of my life with you. Even the ones, hell, especially the ones, I didn't want to talk about.
Even your death can't deter me from that.
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