I hated myself last night, as I lay in bed trying to get back to sleep. I was remembering the joy on my mother's face when she saw me, how she sat next to me, clutched my arm and smiled and asked what was new. ... and then I remembered the look of deflation on her face when I talked with her about her underwear again. Why didn't I keep my mouth shut? Why did I have to embarrass her?
I resent doing her laundry, not because I hate doing things for her but because she day before she moved to Atria, she was doing her own laundry, the day she moved into Atria she forgot how to do laundry and refuses to re-learn. Now, of course, her memory is so shot, it's no longer a refusal to do anything for herself, but it's truly a "can't remember" thing, but when I realized that she was going through more than a dozen pairs of underwear in 5 days and that I was going to have to start doing her laundry twice a week now, I just got angry.
It's not her fault...it's not her fault...it's not her fault...so why do I go out of my way to make her feel so bad about it?
She can't believe that she uses as many pairs of underpants as she does. She never pees in her pants (not true) and she only changes her underwear once a day. So her explanation is that someone must be coming into her apartment, taking her underwear, wearing them and then bringing the dirties back to her laundry hamper.
Then she hangs her head in such an abject depression and says that she must be losing her mind.
Yes she is, but why do I have to keep reminding her of that, when if I keep things light I will have the mother who smiled so beautifully at me when I arrived yesterday...? It's only laundry, for Pete's sake.
I resent doing her laundry, not because I hate doing things for her but because she day before she moved to Atria, she was doing her own laundry, the day she moved into Atria she forgot how to do laundry and refuses to re-learn. Now, of course, her memory is so shot, it's no longer a refusal to do anything for herself, but it's truly a "can't remember" thing, but when I realized that she was going through more than a dozen pairs of underwear in 5 days and that I was going to have to start doing her laundry twice a week now, I just got angry.
It's not her fault...it's not her fault...it's not her fault...so why do I go out of my way to make her feel so bad about it?
She can't believe that she uses as many pairs of underpants as she does. She never pees in her pants (not true) and she only changes her underwear once a day. So her explanation is that someone must be coming into her apartment, taking her underwear, wearing them and then bringing the dirties back to her laundry hamper.
Then she hangs her head in such an abject depression and says that she must be losing her mind.
Yes she is, but why do I have to keep reminding her of that, when if I keep things light I will have the mother who smiled so beautifully at me when I arrived yesterday...? It's only laundry, for Pete's sake.
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