another downpour

For the first time in my life I finally understand what happened many years ago when I asked my mother why Dad didn’t love me enough to go to any of the nine court dates when I was assaulted. I said, “Why doesn’t he care about me?” She said, “Oh, Dorothy, he cares too much. It is just too painful to be there. To much reality.” At the time I thought how lame can you be? You care ‘too much’ to be there for me?

Something like that.

Yesterday I had a similar feeling when I was at Tracy’s. It was an overwhelming feeling of loss and dread and sadness and pain, and of caring too much. Of too much reality.

And, my Mother’s words came back to me right then. It would be so much easier to not see her. Not see her broken body. Not see her shoulders — with one of them three inches higher than the other. Not see that she can’t even turn over in bed. Not see [and hear] her wince in pain. Not see that she is stuck in a chair and can’t dance and laugh and yell and sing. Yep. Even singing too loud is hurting Tracy right now since all of her ribs are so tender from falling last week.

It was deja vu. And for a tiny minute I thought, I am so much like my Dad. I don’t want to be like him!

While I was there, Tracy read me a story about a young mother and wife with Ehlers-Danlos, and it broke my heart. Broke! “The endless trips to doctors started, most of who were clueless. I was diagnosed with orthostatic hypotension, bradycardia and dysautonomia, bringing more questions because no one knew why. I kept getting worse, having seizures, muscle spasms, stroke-like episodes. August 2013, I was diagnosed with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, a genetic disorder mutating my collagen. I have hypermobile joints because of EDS. Braces keep my joints together. I’m quickly deteriorating, using an electric wheelchair because my joints can’t support me and EDS has started affecting my organs.”

Every time I hear of someone else with EDS I realize this is happening. This is reality. This is her new normal. And the tears just pour out of me.

If tears were fat, I’d be so skinny!


One thought on “another downpour

  1. Tracy

    Mama, I love you so, so much. I am sorry this is so hard for you. It is hard living it and I am sure it is hard watching it. Thank you for cleaning my kitchen on Saturday – it sorely needed your love.

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