I don’t know how to talk to my mom. When I visit here, I usually sit there and hold her hand. I’ll say prayers, I’ll tell her not to be afraid, I’ll tell her I love her, but mostly, I just sit there. I don’t know what to say…………………… I can’t find the words. I want to tell her about my life, but it just feels absolutely ridiculous. I tried to read to her, but it feels contrived. If she can’t remember how to swallow her food, how could she possibly comprehend what I’m saying………………….. I am, by nature, a pessimist. The glass will always be mostly empty save a few drops. I don’t believe she can understand me. I don’t believe she “gets” my words — the words where I tell her about day, my struggles, my joys, my fears and frustrations.
It’s been so many years since I’ve actually talked to my mom……………….. before her disease consumed her brain.
Frankly, I think the grey matter that deciphers what comes out of my mouth into images and ideas has been turned to complete mush.
I love my mom. I miss my mom. But I can’t talk to her. I just don’t know how.