To update the knuckle is to update myself. Helping my mother, with whom I have always had the hardest, tightest, most resistent of relationships with has changed me utterly. Changed my, as a former shrink would say, paradigm. Helping her has made me love her.
I am exhausted by the insurance runaround. Worried about the money. Scared stiff that I'll end up in worse circumstances (with no daughters or daughter-in-law, or son) how can I not be. But comforted when, on a bad day, it is my sister who plants her ass in the doctor's office (taking time from the time she took to drive down from St. Louis and, with her S.O., clean the house of old food and beanie babies) and argue for the physical therapy prescription. (How why this isn't going more smoothly has to do with contracted services filling out forms in ways that others don't want them filled out or sending nurse's notes that other nurses, in bad moods that day, don't want to deal with...stupid human tricks). ohgodwherewasi?
It felt so good that Janeann was dealing with them for one day. And then guilty that she was doing my job and hers. and how grateful I am that she can do the house stuff that I could never do.
And how grateful that Deborah is there with soup and gentle nagging (did you drink water today? how much water did you drink today?).
And what a strange balloon of peace there is to feel love instead of that old resentment. Love is melting.