So she doesn’t want to see me. So okay. We had a conversation last month and she remembers words that were never ever said and she’s livid with me for saying those words that I never ever said. The words that are “killing her”; that are “a knife to her heart.” She’s “moments from death” and how dare I say such things?
That I never ever said.
“Her pain meds make her confused,” offers Dad.
Still, she’s able to tell everyone she knows. I hear they are aghast, praying for me, for my hardened heart.
To say such things.
So I ordered her some flowers. Included some sentiments that I want her to believe but she won’t. She can’t. It’s not in her. No matter what is done, no matter how many times, it carries no weight. It doesn’t exist. You are Sisyphus, always pushing that rock. Starting over, every time. Pushing a rock up a stone.
Still … I don’t know what else to do. But, Mom, I never ever do.
So.
Happy Mother’s Day.