The hate I feel, the anger, the impatience, the constant scowl...who is this person hijacking my body, my personality, my spirit, me?
I walked her to the park yesterday. I just bark orders: get up, get dressed, be ready to go outside. stop complaining. I'm not particularly proud of how it comes out of my mouth most of the time.
She sleeps a lot more during the day. This happens I guess. I'm still learning. I woke later than I meant to which meant I could not take myself out for a walk and then take her.
She got up, dressed begrudgingly, and complained perpetually about her damn back. She told me it was my fault she was in so much pain since I was so late giving her her Aleve. Truthfully, again, at that point, it had been exactly 15 days since I had given her an Aleve. That morning's pain med was a Vitamin D3.
As we walked, I stayed a few steps ahead. Walking next to her, I was sure to get an earful of moans and groans, and that endless, "ooh, oh...this darn back." I hate it every time she says it. With each audible moan, I took a quicker step getting away from her and just a little further ahead.
With each street crossing, the complaints grew louder. I was kind enough to make sure she crossed safely, then once we crossed I immediately picked up my pace getting far enough ahead to be out of range of her daily whiny ritual. We get closer to the park and all I hear is a steady stream of blah, blah, blah, blah...
We get there. I position her in front of the rail and say, "breathe it in." She wants to sit, so I point to her seat on her walker. She makes a face. I look away; roll my eyes.
Eventually I push her in her walker like it's a wheelchair.
"Whoa, wait a minute. Where're we going? I don't want to go so far that I have to walk so far back."
"We're going right here."
I push her over to the gate by the benches, face her out towards the river, then sit away from her. There's no conversation between us. I don't want to talk. It's the same conversation: pain in her back, going home, taking care of herself.
We sit there for at least an hour before a woman with a fluffy little dog walks over to her and the next thing the two, the woman and my mom, are talking up a storm for a nice long time. At this I breathe a deep breath of relief.
This journey takes the best out of me and hurls that part clear out of this universe. What's left behind is a bitch.
As we make our way back home, new woman and her dog in tow, the first thing we come to is a pretty good size hill. It's short-ish, but the drama begins: oooh, oh, ow, ugh....
"Oh, she's stuggling. She needs help." The lady says with a sad downward turn to her mouth, eyebrows pinched.
"Nope, she's putting on an Academy award winning performance. She'll be fine."
"I guess, I just get so concerned. It's my nature. I never had kids so when I was a nurse I put too much into my patients treating them like my kids."
"Oh. Drama is who she is. She'll be fine."
"I just get nervous."
"It'll be alright."
Sometimes, it's just so hard to sit that bitch down inside me.
I'm just writing to keep from losing it.