Merry Christmas Mom by B. Barnett (highly illogical behavior .txt) 📕

Merry Christmas Mom


Friday December 17, 6:17, in the morning. I stroll out of bed and shuffle my way into the kitchen. The coffee pot is empty. So clumsily, I begin to make some coffee. Today won’t be like the rest of my days. Today we’re going to visit family, my mom and I.
I’m excited; getting adjusted to this new daily routine has been to say the least, a challenge. I am naturally a bit hyper, even impulsive at times. But now, wake up in the morning put on the coffee, wash my face, set out mom’s clothes. Set up her morning pills. Pour my coffee, check my emails and wait for her to begin stirring. Get her dressed, check her blood sugar, (she’s a diabetic), pour her a cup of coffee, and push her out to the garage for her first morning cigarette. Start a load of laundry, and sit with her and my coffee until she’s ready to go in. Bring her inside; fix her breakfast with one piece of toast. Share breakfast with her. Clean-up. Push her to the living room. She lies on the sofa, I turn on the television, crank up the sound, and she goes to sleep. I clean the morning dishes, empty the dishwasher from the night before, take out the trash, pick up and carry out the bed mats and diapers from the night. Get myself dressed, tinker a bit on some craft project, and make the beds. This is when mom wakes back up. So it’s off to the bathroom, change diaper, out to the garage for another cigarette, sit and wait, tinker with another craft project or maybe transfer clothes to the dryer, while I’m in the garage with mom. Back into the house, mom stays in her wheelchair for awhile, exercises her legs on her little bike peddle. I start making lunch, ½ of a sandwich made with one piece of bread, some fruit, and Lays potatoes chips. These days my life has been like a ditto copy routine. It’s very different from a few months back. Directing a school, juggling teacher schedules, parent schedules, accounting, monthly letter, meetings, doctor appointments, for mom, pill schedules, caretaker schedules, etc… I was wearing so many hats sometimes I forgot who I was supposed to be. Now I think sometimes I have too much time to think. When I was so busy, I didn’t have to think about me, or life, just take care of it. Now I think a lot.

I finish preparing the coffee and walk into her room. Standing at the end of her bed, I gaze at her sleeping. My mind flashing through memories we’ve shared together, rocking me in her arms, at the big age of 11, because I was so up set. All the early morning restaurant breakfast’s we shared together and our trip to San Francisco. Staying up all night as a kid to watch her, because she bumped her head, then there was that day she screamed names at me when I walked in from school, and then left. I remember wondering if she was ever going to return. She didn’t come back until about 4: oo in the morning. I remember watching her as she came through the door. She glared at me for a moment, and then whispered, I was all the way to San Diego before I turned around. Feeling confused, I whispered back, “what did I do?” She never answered. After I graduated I remember thinking that it was her fear of me growing up and leaving. I really never did find out. I never asked again. When I was just a young kid, she would have my girl friends spend the night and take us to the donut shop at 5 in the morning for the early morning fresh donuts. It always smelled so good. Everywhere we went, she knew people. She had been a waitress all her life. Her customers came from across the world to see her. When ever we ran into people she knew, she would tell them the story of how jealous I was because we couldn’t go any where without running into someone she knows. I don’t remember feeling like that. I remember thinking how wonderful it was that she knew people everywhere. But I never argued. I just smiled. Her story seemed to make her feel better. Funny most of my life has been about my mom. All these memories, they all seem so long ago. Gazing at her she looks so peaceful sleeping there...
Some days though, it’s like being with a stranger, listening to their life story each day, over and over, trying to explain who I am, hour to hour. Trying to sooth out the confusion and fear I see in her eyes. Some days I just want to sit and cry. But being here for her is comforting to my soul, I love her.
But there are those moments, when she’s all there, filled with that whit and since of humor, that could bring any crowd to their knees in laughter. I so cherish those moments, these days. They bring me such joy. They’re just getting farther and farther apart. Now here it is Christmas time again. That time of year with the reason for the season and the HO, HO, Ho’s. She loves making sure there is something for each grandchild. Everyday she goes down the list. Everyday she asks me who has what, making sure she hasn’t missed anyone. Each day I go down the list with her and tell her what we have for each grandchild.
I can smell the coffee now. She still loves her coffee and cigarette in the morning. I turn and shuffle back to the kitchen. Pour the coffee and sit it on the table. Moments later she is stirring. I shuffle back to her room, help her out of bed. These days she spends most her day in a wheelchair. Her legs just don’t have the strength to hold her up too long. I get out her clothes and diapers and we begin with the morning routine. But today it’s something special to wear for the family Christmas party. She’ll be seeing her sisters and their children too. She begins to realize and ask is today the party? Yes mom it is. Oh! She begins to get excited. You need to bath me. Yes I know. You need to do my hair. Yes mom I will. Is your sister going? Yes Mom, she’ll be there. Oh, OK. When are we leaving? “In just a little bit, mom.” “OK, let’s have some breakfast first.” “Alright.” she whispers.”
It’s a push into the kitchen. “What would you like this morning” “Eggs” I want eggs and One piece of toast” “OK” I get out the pan start her eggs and one piece of toast. Soon enough they are finished and I pour the coffee and butter the toast. “Here you go mom” “Oh Ok.” While she eats I check my Emails. Answer a couple, then, share a cup of coffee with her. “I’m done. I don’t want any more.” “All right mom. I clear off the dishes and wash them out and load the dish washer. “I want a cigarette.” “OK mom, just a moment.”
It’s another push off to the garage. She liked sitting in the garage with the door open watching all the neighbors. Some days she was so funny, she would sit there and tell me some great stories about the neighbor and their lives. “See that car, he parks down here, but walks to that house over their. I don’t think he wants his wife to know where he is.” “I laugh, his wife, how do you know he is married?” “I don’t know, it sounds good don’t it.” I laugh again, “Mom you are so funny.” “Well see that girl over there.” “Yea” she has a black boyfriend, and the little boy is white” “Oh, well maybe the boyfriend isn’t the boy’s dad.” “No I think he just looks like his mom.” I chuckle, mom.” I shake my head in disbelief. “Well it makes everything more interesting this way!” “Mom, you are so bad.” She shrugs her shoulders at me. “It’s time for your bath. She nods her head a push back to the bedroom. I run a tub full of warm water. She can barely step over the tub just to sit in her shower chair. I pour water over her, wash her down and pour water over her to rinse her off. Then it’s a slow process trying to step out. Her clothes are neatly laid on her bed. A nice pair of white pants, a fancy red blouse, an under shirt, and red socks. For the past few months, mom refuses to wear shoes, bras, or her teeth. Crazy I know but the argument ended long ago and she won. Carefully I dress her, take her to the bathroom and comb out her hair. “I need lip stick” she demanded. “Ok mom.” On goes the lip stick. She’s ready. “I’m going to get me ready now, mom.” She sits in front of the television. The sound is deafening, she refuses to even consider a hearing aid... So we deal with the sound along with the neighbors across the street.
I begin getting ready. I wash my face. “Are you done yet?”Mom yells. “No, not yet mom,” yelling back from my bedroom, “I put on my clothes, and walk to the kitchen. Are we going, now?” “No , not yet mom. I pace back to the bathroom and do my hair. We’re going to be late,” she yells out again. “No we’re not mom.” I announce from the bathroom. I finish up and come out with my shoes. “Are you done yet?” Just a few more moments, mom, I need to pack up the car.” She takes in a deep breath and sighs. I smile and shake my head.
I slip on my shoes and pace out to the car, carrying out the needed goods. It’s like having an infant all over again. Mom needs extra clothes, jackets, and a few other items just to make it through the day. Then quickly I return to her. This time she just stares at me as if she has been waiting for hours. I smile. “Are you ready?” I jokingly ask. “Yes, are you?” Yes.” I smile. The push is on. I grab her chair and start out to the car. She begins drilling me on the list of Items packed. “Did you get my extra clothes?” “Yes” Did you get my diapers? Yes. Did you get the gifts? Yes. Did you get…?” Mom just get in the car, I smile. She pulls herself up and slides into her seat. I pull her chair back, buckled up her seat belt and loaded up the wheelchair into the trunk.
As we begin driving toward the freeway, I glance over at mom. Her expression has changed. Are you Ok, mom? She stares at me with that blank look. I smile. Do you know who I am? She quickly turns away and stares out the window. Mom…I’m your daughter, Berta. She flips her head towards me just long enough for a glance. “Your baby mom.” She flips her head around again, this time with a short pause, then back to staring out her side window. I take in a deep breath, smile and keep driving. Several moments pass. Periodically she glances at me then turns quickly as if to keep