by diane mccloskey, Oct 15, 2008
Some choices we get to make, some we don't. I'd give all the money in the world for more quality time...again, some choices we don't get to make.
I don't get to decide when my mom dies or how or in what shape.
It's not up to me.
I don't get to choose.
I don't get to decide whether she knows who I am when the time draws near--she hardly knows now. She knows she knows me--but she's always surprised to find out that I'm her daughter and better yet, that she's my mother.
And she wonders where her father is though he's been gone now more than 50 years. Of course she forgets that she herself is now 85. And she wants her other, old name back--she remembers Koch--and when I explain how she became Edie Drasche by marrying Walter Drasche--best move of her life--she looks at me blankly, sort of shrugs her shoulders, smiles a meek smile….
46 years of marriage, 54 years of motherhood--
Where have all these sacred memories gone?
Do I hold them all now, do I keep them safe?
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