All Posts Tagged ‘Mom

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Purple

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I hate being negative, but purple reminds me to the dead, because is the colour of the funerals in the church.

I have too recent my mom’s funeral, with all the priests dressed in purple chasuble, singing songs about the everlasting life, in wich I firmly believe.

It was a very sad day, because is always hard to say good-bye. Above all when there is so much love involved.

Now her home is no longer a home, but a strange empty place. It was also a day of hope, because she went to a better life, stopped suffering and finally rested. And I’m sure she’s now with dad in heaven, wich was her biggest wish.

But we, down here, would like to have her more time, to hear her stories, laugh with her, feel her love for us, her children.

I have spent my last five years taking care of her since she had a stroke. I still getting up in the morning thinking: I have to go to take care of mom… And then the harsh truth strikes my mind like a hammer. I have no longer where to go.

Well, I have found places to go and things to do, but without mom.

My life has changed completely.I miss her badly.

Ragtag Daily Prompt: Purple

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Mom

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Mom solving crosswords

My mom passed away a few months ago. I miss her badly. Above all these days. Here she is solving crosswords at her desk. She was always busy with something. I like this picture because it conveys the cozy and peaceful environment she created with her presence. She was the soul of the house. Now the room is empty and cold without her. There are many memories, but my soul hurts.

2017 Favorites

Here is a portrait of my mom:

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Knitting with Mom

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I used to knit during the long hours I spent taking care of my mom when she was still among us. It was the perfect activity to be with her. I was able to follow a conversation with her, do something productive, and drop it immediately whenever she needed something of me, which was pretty often, and unpredictable. I couldn’t read a book, because I couldn’t concentrate with so much interruptions. Watch tv was extremely boring. She loved watching me doing something while I was with her. when I finished my first sweater she said she was really proud of me. Since she passed away I never took out again the knitting bag again…until today to take this picture.

Knit

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Lost Nest

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Mom's 1

Now that my mom has passed away, her nest is empty. Her house, a meeting point for all of us, plenty of great remembrances, is now a sad and solitary place. The place where I used to go to find refuge and solace is gone.

Soon it will begin the time of Advent and after that, Christmas. Every year I used to spend many time with her, planning what to do, what presents get ready for the kids, how to set the simple grotto scene in the living room, under the Christmas tree full of decorations and lights.

And because she was so sick and paralytic, I was the one doing all that things under her loving directions, while we listened to traditional carols .

We used to laugh like kids at the slightest reason or without any reason at all.

I loved the moment when I had finished decorating the tree and the whole living room. It was usually at the evening. I used to turn off all the lights except the ones on the tree and the grotto scene and all the other decorations. Then I used to go to my mom’s room and bring her, pushing the wheelchair, to the living room.

The wonder in her face was my best reward. Her eyes were bright and smiling and my heart was dancing. I’m going to miss you so much, mom!

In the picture, my mom’s armchair, empty

Nest

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fleeting

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We have had a beautiful weekend. Windy, but sunny. Colourful flowers were already blooming in the park.

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After a week of constant rains, we thought that we were going to finally have some nice days to walk around and enjoy the view and the city. We even had plans to take my mom out shopping in her wheelchair. She’s been secluded at home for too long because of the bad weather. It was a fleeting hope. Nature is whimsical. And today my window had this view.

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Of course kids were delighted. But mom had to stay at home once again.

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Fleeting

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mom

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My personal victory is my mom. She had a brain stroke and had been near death four years ago. Because of that she’s paralysed. Since them I’m taking care of her, to give her a nice quality of life. She’s smiling and looking great at 95. I love her and I’m proud of her.

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In response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: “Victory.”

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Eli

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How would you get along with your sibling(s), parent(s), or any other person you’ve known for a long time — if you only met them for the first time today?

My older sister has become lately my best friend. Above all now that we are together sharing our efforts in taking care of our mom who is very sick and paralytic,  so she needs our help for everything. She is a very pragmatic and resolute woman, cheerful, positive and with a golden heart. I am emotional, idealistic, depressed, and I have the head in the clouds. She helps me decide what to do when I’m perplexed or my emotions won’t let me think properly. In some way I have known her recently with all this problem with my mom’s sickness. Till now she was for me like a perfect model. The person who could solve any problem. Always sure and solid as a rock no matter what the difficulties. Now I’m getting to know her better. She has doubts like me about what to do, out of love for my mom. we both want the best for her and it’s not easy. Taking care of a completely paralysed person is difficult for everyone. Mom suffers, and we get tired. Sometimes, my sister needs to lean on me. I’m trying to be strong. For the sake of Mom and for the sake of her. Eli. My  older sister. She deserves it for all she has done for me.

Delayed Contact.

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Dear Mom

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Write a letter to your mom. Tell her something you’ve always wanted to say, but haven’t been able to. 

Please, talk to me. I know all about your sufferings. Don’t think I don’t understand you. Your silence is like a knife that is piercing my soul. Tell me what is in your heart. You’re not alone. I’m by your side. You know it. Please, don’t be silent. Talk to me. I need to know what’s going on by your mind and soul. I need your words. I need your smile. Please, Mom, stay with me. I’ll be always by your side. You know how I love you.

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Dear Mom.

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Generation gap

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My mom is a survivor of the WWII. She’s 95, with a clear mind. She endured in her youth forced labour, persecution and years of forced separation from her husband. She never gave up. Now, a stroke hit her. She is in a wheelchair, with half her body paralyzed. But she struggles every day to read, talk and look good. Recently a group of young reporters came to interview her, Interested in her remembrances of those years and her adventures. They were in their twenties. I was nervous because my mom told me she was afraid of the cameras. It was interesting to see how my mom and these youngsters connected immediately despite the generation gap

 

GENERATION GAP – GROWING UP BOOMER.

 

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Top Ten: The Prompt

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Since my mom got sick three years ago and has required all my attention, I’ve felt unable to set other priorities. It’s strange how a life can change completely from an instant to another. I used to have a great variety of interests and activities. Now, she occupies my mind and my time. These days I’m worried because she is suffering and her mood is low. I’m doing everything in my power to give her a better quality of life. She loves to see me happy and smiling, so I have to hide my emotions and don’t show my worry in front of her. She likes to see me well dressed, so I try to take care of my appearance. She likes to receive new things, so I buy on-line things for me and for her always in her mailing address, so she can see the packages and enjoy when we open them (she can’t open them because is paralytic). Above all, she loves to know I’m around. I’m not too talkative, but she doesn’t mind. All she cares is to know I’m there. She says likes being with me because I’m quiet and that gives her peace. She gives me peace too. And she knows how to show me her love, with thousands of little things, like when she caress delicately my hair with the only hand she can move while I’m kneeling to put on her slippers.
So I have no longer a top ten list. Not for now. My top list is only of one.
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Top Ten: The Prompt.

 

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Mother

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Beach, mountain, forest, or somewhere else entirely?

It has been so long since my last travel, that I only can think on get out of this city at least for a day. Where? I don’t mind. Any change would be welcome. I’m stuck in this city. I can’t leave its maze of streets. I like my city. I’m lucky it has plenty of parks and green spaces I can enjoy. It’s also in a privileged place near stunning nature spots. But for me is difficult to leave the city even to go to those places, no matter how close they are. And this situation is gonna last for a long time. I was gonna say: I’m afraid. But I’ll rather say: I hope. Or better: If that is what God wants. Because what ties me to my city this way is my mom. She needs me every day to take care of her. And I feel lucky to be able to help her to have a better quality of life now that she can’t move by herself.

I have a lot of memories of wonderful places I visited when I was free and had the means to travel. Once, I won in a raffle a trip for two to spend a week in Cuba all paid. My mom was then saying that she didn’t want to die without seen her homeland again, so I asked in the travel agency if I could change the tickets from Cuba to Croatia and they say yes.  We got a trip to spend 10 days in Dubrovnik all paid (out of high season). It was great. She told me a lot of exciting stories she lived in the medioeval city during the war. I got to know her courage. We enjoyed the art, the culture, the blue mediterranean sea. We took advantage of our trip to go to Kotor Bay in Montenegro to visit my dad’s family in Kotor city and Dobrota. We had long conversations at my aunt’s orchard next to the shore, feeling the evening marine breeze. Kotor Bay is a wonderful place where you have the sea, some islands, and high mountains together. It was a great trip. I would like to go back. But I know it only will be possible without mom and then I don’t know if I will be able to overcome the emotions and the sorrow.

Places.

 

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Twenty-Five

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There are 26 letters in the English language, and we need every single one of them. Want proof? Choose a letter and write a blog post without using it. (Feeling really brave? Make it a vowel!)

A challenge like this one is not easy for a foreigner like me . My english is too poor. Despite all odds, I’ll try.

My mom is gonna be interviewed next week. It’s a big event for her and for me. We have to prepare everything together. She’s 95, has big health problems that keep her in a wheelchair and needs help for everything. Nevertheless Her mind works almost as fast as ever. The interviewers are interested in her life story and her remembrances from WWII. She has some exciting memories written and now she is reading those notes. What she didn’t know when she said yes to the proposal was that they want to record it in a video. Now we have a problem. She wants to look good and we have to arrange the hairdresser. Another problem is that she is a little deaf and she’s afraid of not hearing to the interviewer. I think she’s excited with all this.

And I think I wrote this little post omitting the vowel U

 

Twenty-Five | The Daily Post.

 

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Almost every day

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When was the last time someone told you they were proud of you?

A few hours ago. My mom always find some reason to tell me she’s proud of me. This time was because she says I’m the best at the task of transfer her from the bed to the wheelchair and from the wheelchair to the armchair.

I try to do it gently and calmly so she stays as comfortable and serene as possible during those transfers always complicated.

It’s something I do constantly. It was as if she were telling me she was proud of me for telling good morning each day. She caressed my hair while telling me how proud was of me when I was kneeling, lacing her shoes. One of those little moments I wouldn’t change for anything in this world.

Proud.

 

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Agree to Disagree: Mom

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Do you have a good friend or close relative with whom you disagree on a major issue (political, personal, cultural)? What’s the issue, and how do you make the relationship work?

My mom and I are in opposite sides in politics. She loves politics. At 94 years old, she reads two newspapers and watches several news shows every day. Several years ago she suffered an ictus and got paralyzed. But her mind works as fast as ever. Now I have to go to buy her the papers and this is a heroic act of love for her. One of the newspapers is so conservative and monarchist that I never ever would buy it and let people see me with it on the street. The kiosk vender must think I’m schizophrenic when I buy my newspaper and my mom’s. When she talks about politics, which is often, I listen and say little. We both know where we are and know we are not going to change, So why argue? No way. We disagree in many other things, from fashion (she would like to see me better dressed) to soccer (she’s a Real Madrid fan and I’m Barcelona’s) We have a lot of fun together watching matches. Usually we use to connect via whatsApp with all my sisters, nephews and nieces around Spain and Europe when there is a match transmitted in the TV to interchange comments. Usually I’m in minority because almost all are with Real Madrid. It’s really funny.

Back to my mom and me, I only can say that we can live with our disagreement because we love each other very much and our love is stronger than our differences.

I have also close relatives and close friends with whom I disagree in religious matters, but again, the friendship is stronger than the differences. And this would require another post.

Agree to Disagree.

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Luxury can wait

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You’re given unlimited funds to plan one day full of any and all luxuries you normally can’t afford. Tell us about your extravagant day with as much detail as possible.

There are so many necessities waiting for a solution that I cannot think in a day of luxury for me.

Being egoistic, I would use the money to solve the many problems that the care of my mom generates and we can’t solve now because it’s too expensive. I don’t want to see her suffer. I want to see her as comfortable as possible, without the constant question about if we can afford this or that. We don’t know how we’re going to survive this Christmas. So if I’d had unlimited funds, I would use them to hire a nurse for my mom for this Christmas season and make some reforms at home to make it easier for her to take a bath and to move from bed to the wheelchair and to go from room to room. My luxury day can wait.

 

Feeling Fancy.

 

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A problem

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Today, write about anything — but you must write for exactly ten minutes, no more, no less.

– We have a problem
– What happened?
– Mom’s articulated bed is not working at all and she needs it.
– Can’t you fix it?
– No. I already called the technician and he said the engine is dead and is so old there are no spare, so there is no other solution but to buy a new bed.
– But that must be very expensive.
– It is. I don’t know how are we going to pay it, but is a necessary expense. We cannot handle Mom without an articulated bed. She can’t move because of her paralysis and she can’t bear so many hours in bed without changing the position of her back and her legs.
– I’ll investigate if the social services offer some kind of help for this, but I doubt it.
– Do it. I’ll see if there is some way to pay for in instalments.
– We have been in difficulties before, we will survive this one.

Note: I usually go to the daily prompt in search for inspiration because I have no imagination to find a different subject each day to write. No prompt today, so I wrote about what was occupying my mind. I’m sorry if the result has been too boring.

Ready, Set, Done.

 

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Cry and laugh

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Are you a good judge of other people’s happiness? Tell us about a time you were spot on despite external hints to the contrary (or, alternatively, about a time you were dead wrong).

My mom was crying and I was looking at her helplessly, heart-broken. I had no idea what to do to console her. She seemed depressed. Nothing particular had happened. Simply too much suffering accumulated for too long. Seeing herself so limited and dependant of others, with her paralysis, she got discouraged.

I decided to show her some pictures I had done and I had stored in my iPad, some of them of a travel we did to Croatia together several years ago when she was healthy. We began to remember those wonderful days we spent visiting beautiful places full of meaning and remembrances for her. She stopped crying and began to smile at first and finally to laugh openly while we remembered what we did during our vacations. We had a great time and she was reliving every bit of that travel.

She even began to tell me old amazing stories of her adventures in Dubrovnik after WWII.

In a few moments, she forgot about her illness and went back to her good-humor mood and her usual happiness.

What I thought it was gonna be impossible, turned rather easy, because she is a happy woman despite her difficulties and her occasional discouragements.
Happy Radars.

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Inside

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Today, tell us about the home you lived in when you were twelve. For your twist, pay attention to — and vary — your sentence lengths.

I’m afraid of the elevator. It’s an old dark wooden machine inserted in a cage-like structure that quiver while it lifts up to the sixth and top floor where I live.

But the shaking is not what worries me. I hate the elevator because once a man cornered me inside it with the intention to kidnap me. He even grabbed my hand. I screamed and a neighbour heard me and saved me. The man escaped. Since then I can’t take the elevator without shivering. I still have nightmares.

Once in my floor I ring the bell. Mom opens the door. She greets me in Croatian with her sweet voice and I feel like I just have left the hostile world in which I live and to enter not only my home but my homeland. I finally feel sure. Inside dwells my family. I understand the sense of humor. I can hear my motherly language.

The flat has a long and narrow corridor with rooms at both sides and the kitchen at the end. We have the apartment rented. The kitchen is very old. It works with charcoal. My mom has to work hard to maintain all clean. She is an intelectual but when she arrived to Spain they didn’t recognised her titles so she is not working outside home.

My dad is professor at the University writer and journalist. He teaches Literature. He has a big library and a desk where he writes his books and articles for the newspaper typing in an old Olivetti. Every night he is in a rush writing his column about foreign politics for the local newspaper. At eight a messenger comes to pick up the original. We all know what a deadline is.

What I love of my father’s work is when he begins to write poetry. He uses to read his poems to mom, some of them dedicated to her. She smiles when he reads. They love each other so much!

What I don’t like so much is his work at the University. He spends too much time there and organises meetings with his students at home also. Once a year he invites all his students. That day is crazy. We don’t have enough chairs for all. Dad helps mom in the kitchen to prepare dinner, buffet style, because many of the students are standing or sitting on the floor. They enjoy it, because they stay till late in the evening chatting and laughing.

It’s the same living room in which we spend so many afternoons singing and laughing and playing all together.

Everything inside is nice and homy to everyone. But I don’t think it is because of how the flat is decorated. I think it is because of how mom and dad are. They are the soul of the home.

 

Writing 101, Day Eleven: Size Matters.

 

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Christmas Eve

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What is your very favorite holiday? Recount the specific memory or memories that have made that holiday special to you.

Christmas eve. December 24th was a magic day. My older sister arrived home from Madrid where she was working. We were finally all together. We missed her so much! My parents got separated by force during twelve years after she was born. So there is a big gap between her and the rest of us. We, “the four small ones” adored her. When she left us to go to work in Madrid it was a complete tragedy. Every time she returned home we celebrated as a great festivity. But the day had to begin without her.

Early in the morning we began to decorate the house with the little things we had crafted with mom’s direction the precedent Sundays. Mom was the decorator in chief. She made us feel we were the important ones in all the process, but she was the one doing the job before going to the kitchen to fix dinner. It was an exhausting day for her. Then we all went to help dad trimming the tree full of lights and candles and setting the scene of the grotto.

According to the tradition we set the scene under the tree. The tree represent the life and the light that emanates from Bethlehem, so our “little Bethlehem” representation was always under the tree. Every year our “little Bethlehem” was different. Dad made a little grotto with clay or wood pieces painted by him and set an elaborate landscape made with sand and little pebbles to mark paths and moss to represent fields of grass with figurines of sheep grazing here and there. There was even a river with real water in it and a clay made bridge over. In the grotto we set carefully the clay statuettes of the Virgin, St. Joseph and the Child Jesus, and around the shepherds, the Wise Men with their presents and the angel. The angel was a statuette my dad liked very much. It was beautifully done, delicate.

When we were finishing and my mom was busy in the kitchen, my sister arrived. Big joy and excitement. She usually took us out for a walk. Wen we came back my dad was at the main room “talking with the angel” about us and our gifts. Closed doors. We waited impatiently outside, excited. When the angel had left the presents and was gone, my dad began to light the candles on the tree and the “little Bethlehem”. We could see the lights lighting one by one through the door’s crystal panels” It was the sign that we could enter. The room was only illuminated by the candles. We could see in the twilight our beautifully wrapped gifts, but we knew we had to wait to see what the angel had brought us. It was a magic. The twilight, the shiny parcels, the smell of moss, clay and candles, the excitement. My dad read the Gospel and we prayed. Then we all sang an ancient beautiful Croatian carol and only after that we turned on the lights to finally open our presents.

We all had late dinner and plenty of time after dinner to play with our new toys before was time to go to midnight Mass. It was a very solemn celebration with a beautiful liturgy and music. We met there all the other families, our friends and neighbors and wished them Merry Christmas.  When we arrived home we were ready for bed after such a long and exciting day.

Daily Prompt: Memories of Holidays Past.

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Singing to Heaven

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Your entire community — however you define that; your hometown, your neighborhood, your family, your colleagues — is guaranteed to read your blog tomorrow. Write the post you’d like them all to see.

Tomorrow is the feast day of St. Luke.

Your feast day, dad.

Luka. What a sweet name.

How would I like you were still around to celebrate with you.  But life has his rules and you passed away leaving behind a deep wound in my soul still open. Why can’t I stop missing you? Why can’t I stop writing about you?. I miss your blue eyes looking at me penetrating, understanding me. I miss your serene smile. I miss your wise words. I miss your laugh. I miss you signing. I miss you reading your poems to mom. I miss your being there for me when I needed you.

How are things in Heaven? Sure you’re happy there. Sure you are there for me too. But I can’t see you.

“So I ask each weepin’ willow

and each brook along the way

and each lad that comes a-whistlin’

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How are things in Glocca Morra

This fine day?”

Are you keeping a place ready for me? because I feel I don’t belong there in Heaven.

You must help me a lot as you ever did. I want to see you again. To be with you, to talk with you, but for that you have to help me be a good person and reach that goal. Love God and be good to others as you did. And to be entirely happy, I would like to reach that goal with all the people I love to be together for ever. But I’m so far away. I know you are working to help us because you loved all of us so much.

“Would you hold my hand

if I saw you in Heaven?

Would you help me stand

If I saw you in Heaven?”

I’m sure you would. And despite I feel I don’t belong there, I hope you’ll help me  cross the door and then

“there’ll be no more tears in heaven”

(Thank you Eric Clapton for this beautiful song)

Daily Prompt: Community Service.

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Because she’s mine

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IMG_0330Write a six-word story about what you think the future holds for you, and then expand on it in a post.

I’ll be there for Mom

It’s my turn. She has always been there for me. When I was little, of course, as a loving mother of five. I was the middle child. Number three. But I felt unique. Even when my baby sister Ana Maria would stay at home and we all go to school. When we arrived back home we used to rush to kiss Mom and Ana Maria, very angry wouldn’t let us yelling: She’s mine! Even then I knew she was mine as much as hers.

She was all mine when I had my terrible migraines. The pain was so terrible I wanted to pull out my left eyeball. I thought with my kid’s logic that without the eye the pain would disappear. She stayed with me for hours holding my hands and caressing me, promising me it would pass. And her promises always became true.

She was all mine despite she was always busy working at home. I firmly believed she had eyes in her back, because she managed to pay attention to what I was doing playing around her while she was cooking or ironing.

She was all mine when I needed her to talk about “my stuff” as a girl and my problems as a young woman. She knew about my friends, my first job, my first love, about my hopes, my joys and my sorrows. She was always there for me. In the good times and the bad times. Always with her warm smile, her peaceful black eyes glancing at me. Waiting for me.

Now she needs me. She’s 93 and she’s paralyzed. I’m so sad seeing her in that condition and watching her suffering. But I’m also so glad I can do something for her; easy her pain in some way as she did with me when I was little and I was in bed with migraines. Only I can’t promise her it will pass and she knows. My immediate future consists in taking care of her, being there for her, because she’s all mine. She continues smiling and looking peacefully at me. Every little service I give her is an opportunity to show her my love and tell her “thank you for your life”.

Daily Prompt: Six of One, Half a Dozen of the Other.

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