A pocket angel
Yesterday, I think I had my 19th nervous breakdown. We had sent family back home, and I had visited my mother late in the afternoon and found her looking frail and not so good. In the meantime, I had learned my sister was on her way here and arriving late Wednesday and so we had decided, selfishly, to go to Portugal on this prepaid trip that we had scheduled back in May.
There is a part of me that is torn – should I stay, knowing that the tedium of bedwatch is expected to last at least another month, and that now it is fraught with possible confrontation from dear ole sis? There’s work that still needs attending to and how can I go away right now? There’s the animals. The fifth iteration of the adoption book hangs in the balance with about 10 new pages that must be created and titled and all the edits and photos that need to be inserted and recopied and resized. There’s me craving alone time and not finding it at any turn. There’s romantic time with my gf that’s been held in abeyance. There’s my yoga I will miss. What to do?
I decided at some point driving back from the hospital that all of it be damned. I’m done trying to live up to everyone’s expectations of me. I need a break. So I came home and poured myself a glass of Licco rose – a beautiful pinot noir rose – and I went through my mother’s purse looking for her insurance card and other things that I want to make sure to pass along to my sister. I came across a silver pocket angel that I had given mom a very long time ago. T was soaking in a hot bath and I took my rose and went out to the front porch – alone at last – the bayou twinkling in the almost full moonlight. A lone star was shining bright.
I just didn’t know what to wish for.