The Christmas lights are twinkling, the TV is silently showing Friends re-runs and mom is taking her afternoon nap. I'm reclining in the lazy boy ordering a new compression glove for her left hand and wondering how something so Twilight Zone has somehow become so normal. I don't think I can pinpoint the moment it happened. Kinda like puberty. One day you wake up and everything feels different, but it's not like there was a sign that just says "welcome to adulthood." And I'm just as conflicted. I'm not sure whether to be thankful for the strength to accept and the peace of mind that comes with that, or pissed for the nagging feeling that "acceptance" is another word for "giving up." Currently, I'm undecided, but still fascinated by the whole thing in general.
I mean, yesterday I had a 15 minute conversation with her about her hallucinations and who she would hallucinate if she could choose. The answer is Shel Silverstein and Marilyn Monroe. Not Kennedy because he'd bring his hallucinated paparazzi and not Henry XIII because he'd destroy the place with his horse. Oh and not Monet because he just seems morally irresponsible. And the thing is, it never even occurred to me that this was weird. Entertaining, yes, but not "crazy."
This is who my mom is now. This is who I am now. This is what my life is now. That sounds so dramatic and devastating, like some angsty tween novel, but with the whole puberty metaphor, also quite appropriate I think.
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