The woman in the bed isn’t me
I visited with mom for a good while this morning and she was more responsive but still the wear and tear of the now almost three months in the hospital was showing in her eyes. I asked her if she knew my name and she said, “My baby.” I told her she was something, keeping us all on pins and needles like she has.
You know how you sit back and you just don’t see the future – that’s how it is with my mom right now. To have her come out of the hospital with a trach and voice box and not be able to do anything but exist just seems like anathema to me. I wish the future looked clearer so she would be aware of what awaits and make her own decisions internally.
I had cut out the part of the calendar that Flower had made me that has my mom on it – it’s the August page – where there are some photos of my mom that Flower took on one of her visits. The three of us had gone to Commander’s Palace for lunch and when Flower went to the bathroom, mom said to me, “I like that girl!” I said I know, I do too.
Looking into mom’s eyes this morning the lyrics to Dave Alvin’s song kept playing over and over in a continuous loop.
The man in the bed isn’t me
Now I slipped out the door and I’m running free
Young and wild like I’ll always be
No the man in the bed isn’t me
