My Mother

My mother can be a wonderful person. When I was young, she was there for my scraped knees and my sunburns. She made me dinner, sewed my clothes, and drove me places. Most of all, she took care of me when I was sick. She would make me special soups and broths, rent movies for me and make fires for me to keep me warmer. I would be well on the road to recovery very quickly with a mother who was so self-sacrificial.

I found out this morning, to my great distress, that she was sick. I was romping around the house fairly early in the morning because I thought I was alone when I heard a feeble little voice calling out my name. Startled, I peered into her room to see a lump of pillows and blankets reposistion itself slightly. It was, I found out after some excellent investigative skills, my mother. I felt horrible because I knew without a doubt that it was I who had gotten my mother sick; after everything she had done for me. I quickly made her some hot water for tea and asked if there was anything else that needed to be done for her. She just told me to leave her alone so she could sleep. I guess I understand.

These days, I put bandaids on my own skinned knees (sometimes), I put on my own sunscreen (often a little too late), I make my own dinner (microaveable foods and cereals [ok, I like real cooking too]), sew my own clothes (or attempt to), and take care of myself when I'm sick (just sleep a ton). And when I can, I take care of my mother in any way possible. It's the least I can do.