“Just try harder, will those legs to move.”
I begged. I pleaded with God.
She took a fall Friday, another on Saturday and another Sunday night. Why didn’t she use her walker? A miracle, a neighbor hears her pleas for help in the cold rain, laying on the sidewalk path to the garage. Two days, two nights in the hospital she appears to rally, so that we will bring her home. She first fights us bringing the sweet 24 hour care-giver. I am a wreck and so is my dad. We wonder inside if a wheel-chair needs to be rented. We wonder inside how we will be able to afford this new lifestyle. We can’t sleep.
She is the best mom a girl could have ever had, but now I feel like I’m the mom and she’s the child.
This is hard. I feel so angry. I want to run. It has only been a week; it feels like a year.
My graduate students start this Wednesday.
I need to be up, but I am not.
I’m an anxiety puddle.
God, please help.