journal entry 7/19/2004

Last night I needed to get out of the house so badly that I took the baby and just drove around aimlessly, needing to not have kids climbing on me, sick of the unlimited piles of laundry and housework , and especially needing to not listen to mom threaten to "stroke out" while I stand by helpless to do anything for her. (She advised me yesterday that she could "stroke out at any moment" because of the drugs she is on and because of the brain tumors).

when I got back mom was downstairs in her room, afraid to walk to the bathroom because she believed she would fall like uncle Mike did a few days before he died. I knew she was asking me to sleep in her room that night, and I
felt angry and overwhelmed by her neediness. I wanted to scream, but instead I told her "I need to go think for a while", then went to the garage and kicked the crap out of some cardboard boxes. Afterward I sat, cried, and had the following revelations: a) she is not faking this illness; b) she is truly afraid; and c) time is limited. I sat in the hot garage for awhile, staring at the cracked cement and wishing I smoked so I could have a few cigarettes.

After 15 minutes I went back in to make up the futon bed for baby and I. We didn't end up staying downstairs all night because mom was asleep very quickly, and Maureen kept awakening from mom's snoring. I set up the baby monitor so I could hear her (snoring!) in the basement from upstairs. When I got into my own bed I cried a lot, out of sadness rather than the hot frustration I'd felt earlier. Today my resentment for mom and her cancer have lifted, and I'm starting to focus on how I can spend my time with her more wisely. One day at a time?