I was shocked this morning when I woke up to sounds of Mom's slippers click clacking upon the carpet floor. She was opening and shutting cabinets, as if there was nothing else better to do than wake me up. But I knew that just last night she had surgery to remove a lump from her right breast. I knew she was bandaged up and sore from the stitches. I knew she was nausea and a bit queasy from the painkillers. I thought I was going to be taking care of her today, soothing her with my instinctual nurse-like qualities that she so willingly passed down to me. But as she rushed around, I began to get tired just watching her squirm in her restlessness.
Chey texted me if she was doing alright. I said yes, but she is just as stubborn as Bach. He told me to tell the patient whose boss, except she still is. She still calls all the shots because honestly what the hell do I know about anything. All I know is that old rice, green tea and an umeboshi will cut any feelings of being nausea. Worked for me, it'll work for you.
The longer we sit across from each other, the more restless we become. I can't believe that we are going to be sitting in these same brown couches, staring at each other and waiting for the recovery period to pass, for 4 months.
But she tells endless stories about my childhood, about how Dad asked her to marry him, stories about heartache, stories about young dreamers, stories about inventive grocers, stories about college road trips. And I appreciate her passing on these memories.