I had come late to my house. She was there, with my kido. I was tired, after a distressful day at job and waiting one hour to be attended by my doctor. Yeah, I’m sick but just a little. That’s life. She was cleaning my house – I hate her way of always telling me with her acts how bad a housekeeper I am – and instead of goodnight she started by saying “I have a lot of things I wanna speak with you.” Oh my Goddess, everything I need tonight. Coming home so tired and have an inutile discussion with my mom. The boy played at the kitchen, drawing my attention with his always wide open smart eyes and his way of always asking for my attention. I love him SO much. Everything I wanted now was to lay myself with him on the couch, laying him over my belly and stroking gently his soft hair to make him sleep, singing lullabies, feeling the warmth of his little body. But no. I had to force myself to hear her. With no patience at all. We passed from trouble at my son’s school to trouble about his health and she accusing myself of a lot of things I wasn’t in the mood to hear and discussion came to a point that the least she called me was selfish. “I know you have your own problems, but do you think other people don’t have any problems too?”
Sure thing I do. I know she passes hard times, my dad too. But what use it would be to tell her that I do know and I do care if she won’t believe me or even hear me? I stopped a long time ago to bother me into saying it. It was just one of those sick discussions we had daily, not the first nor the last. I had an entire life of them before me. BUT tonight she slapped a new fact in my face. And my heart, already sailing in dark waters, almost stopped to beat in my chest. Reality. Dry. Plain. I always knew that in growing up one day I should be faced with the facts of being a woman, being a mother and one day loosing my beloved ones. Only nothing prepared me to the possibility of it happening so soon. That’s life, I know. But still hurts like hell. I’m not prepared to loose her. I love her. Even if I cannot say now. Even if she doesn’t believe me. I love her. Six letters will steal my mother from me. I’m so chocked and afraid I can’t even think of what to say or to do. It’s not a case of thinking about all the shit we didn’t together and the shit it should have been instead of what it was. It’s not my style. And still I pray to the Gods to not be this way, to not happen. But isn’t my choice. It’s hers. I just can see her acting or not-acting. And the consequences. Tied hands. And deep love. And real worry. But I don’t want to play Pollyanna just because now I know I’m in danger of loosing her. I wish just loving her and being myself would suffise. I just don’t know what to do anymore.