Cholangiocarcinoma. The mouthful is what undermines my mother. I have access to wine and the Webs, so I can prattle on without coherence nor care. The past few hours I've looked at plane tickets to return to MN. My FMLA is almost up, and sometimes I wish I can dash the whole thing. Neither the $ or the job is an issue, but my return to work would allow my dad to quit his job and rest his body for a bit. His blood sugar levels have climbed steadily higher since my mother's illness, and soon I may be caring for another parent; however, all that will be for another blog, another time, and another date.
In the years before this moment of heartache, I knew that something to this effect would happen, and that I, as the only child, would need to take care of my parents. Of course, the chain of events are never as neatly compartmentalized or resolved as what one may think. Even during the most pessimistic cases, I never dreamed that the world would look like this. Back in college, I used to share my concerns with another only child, and we'd worry about our parents, as we fretted for our futures and the sacrifices that we would have to make. Yet, during this time with my parents, I have not become frustrated that my life has been uprooted and all routine remain unrecognizable. The greatest frustration is from the inability to do anything.
On this side of the glass, one can become inured to the daily struggles of my mother. I worry that I may be too numb at the end of this, and all I want right now is to smoke an entire pack of cigarettes despite not having had one during my entire stay.
I don't think I'll love anyone or any thing as much as my parents. In so many ways, the extent of their struggle in the United States are completely ineffable. One cannot capture the toil and cumulative effect of sacrifice in a blog, a post, a sentence. Shit, I've become maudlin. It's the wine, I swear. Somehow it's always night when I write.
