Pale. Circles under eyes. “My skin is sleepy”. That’s basically both Ashton and me, but he’s the one with the terminal illness. I have Mom-of patient-disease.
The medicine he was given is non-addictive and was not expected to have an effect but has clearly done so before the expected three day anticipation. I am not sure what I want. Do I want the anger and the feelings which are so clearly not appropriately expressed by him? Or do I want this lethargic child who won’t even play one round of pretend hospital bowling? Abuse or lethargy? No in-between.
I worry about us. I have not considered myself part of an “us” or a “we” for so many years. Now, I speak in terms of “we” are having a transfusion, or “we” had a rough day. Today Ashton said, “Well, Goodnight, Irene!”
That’s not my expression. It’s my mom’s. I laughed. And then I said it seems like you could just as well be your Grandma’s kid, with how you talk sometimes”. He said, “Mom, I will ALWAYS be yours”.
I worry about us becoming this disease. I want him to be a kid and me to be a woman. Neither one is a choice right now.
Next year. He is falling asleep saying he is Not falling asleep.
And I am better here than at home because I wake up panicking and sleep walking at home. I need to be near him and away from him and he needs the same. My heart is a puzzle tonight.
Damn it. 