Some days staying seemed noble to me. I admit it. There’s a kind of moral glow that people can attribute to themselves when they do something difficult and visibly dedicated. It is not always false. Sometimes it’s just one of the few rewards available. Neighbors would say, “Your mom is lucky to have you”, and I would smile and say something modest, then come home feeling both warmed and trapped by that praise. Other days, staying felt like hard work done in slippers. My arthritis is more painful in the morning, especially when rain threatens. Her balance was worse in the evening, especially when the light started to dim. Between us,we had enough medicine bottles to supply a small pharmacy and enough stubbornness to sink a ship. I helped him get up. I reminded him which pills were for tension, which were for pain, and which absolutely had to be taken with food. I washed sheets, swept crumbs, paid bills, cut coupons, made medical appointments, peeled fine apples because her teeth no longer trusted thick skin, and pretended not to notice when she asked the same question three times in an hour because noticing it only embarrassed her.I washed sheets, swept crumbs, paid bills, cut coupons, made medical appointments, peeled fine apples because her teeth no longer trusted thick skin, and pretended not to notice when she asked the same question three times in an hour because noticing it only embarrassed her.I washed sheets, swept crumbs, paid bills, cut coupons, made medical appointments, peeled fine apples because her teeth no longer trusted thick skin, and pretended not to notice when she asked the same question three times in an hour because noticing it only embarrassed her.
Some weeks I was so tired I could hear my own nerves buzzing. Once, after helping her get in and out of the bath and cleaning the water she had spilled onto the floor, I sat on the closed toilet lid and cried silently into a towel, because I was angry at the bathtub, at my knees, at the mold in the joints, at the little indignities of old age, against time itself. Anger is an unfair emotion in helping a dependent person. She arrives where she is least expected, and as soon as she arrives, guilt follows her like a second shadow. I felt ashamed as soon as the anger came, because it had carried me when I was defenseless, cleaned up the damage that I was too young to understand,and loved through all the selfish seasons of my life. But even true love eventually wears out when the days repeat themselves, sleep is light, and the person you’re helping apologizes again every time you have to hold their elbow.
