Since my mother's death I find myself NEEDING to talk about this quest of mine. And sadly, I have no one to talk about it with. I sometimes want to throw my head back and scream out of sheer frustration. There is more to life than bars, and the red sox, cute boys, tailgating and $1.99 draughts. I often feel like I am the only one among my friends who realizes this. Yet, I bite my tongue, for I long to see life as they see it. ..their naivete is something I so envy. they have never had to sponge bathe a young, dying mother, wipe the spittle from her chin, moisten her cottony mouth with a damp sponge, clean her disease riddled body after a bout with diarrhea, watch her lose every shred of dignity, and then have her die their arms. They cannot know what it is like, and I shouldn't expect them to. I envy them and they infuriate me because they are not on this same journey. No, I walk alone. In my heart of hearts I know I would not wish this harrowing journey upon even my worst enemy. Yet I still find it so hard to contain my jealousy. I am compelled to stand on rooftops and scream "Look! Look! All of you- look at the world! Look around you, open your eyes!" No, I must walk alone. I am reminded of a quote from "Ordinary People":
So where is the fault? Is it in believing that the people you love are immortal? Untouchable? No, everyone believes that. Only no one knows it's what he believes-until it happens. Then comes the rage, the banging about the walls, crying what if, what if. Everyone is always so damned surprised, that is the horror of it.
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People are mostly friggin' shallow, and obsessed with their stupid television shows, sex, and beer. That's my conclusion, anyway. This is why I don't have many friends... most people can't relate to the things that interest me.
I am sorry to hear about your mother. It sounds like you were very strong in taking care of her.
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