What is written below popped up in my facebook memories. It was early on in the process of caring for Bonnie and Clyde. We’d go through a hell of a lot more, including years. I might come back and expand on this later but I want to record it here for the moment:

Of Choices

Many of you have known me for quite some time.  It’s why you are my FB friend, that or you play Farmville.

If you’ve known me, then you know what the history between Esther and I has been.  Some know more than others, since I’ve cried and slept on your sofa, but most of you know it’s not been a simple relationship.

When mom had her stroke in 2007, I was contemplating a move to Henderson Nevada.  Possibly Reno, but more likely Henderson.

I was in a good place in my relationship with the ex, I was wrapping up cosmetology school.  I have been ready to leave the Philadelphia area for many many moons, and I didn’t think there would be a better time.

Then came the stroke.

I found myself at the corner of what the fuck and how did I get here and the big truck of what you gonna do now was coming down the street at 80 mph.

As you know I chose to stay.

At first I just wanted to know that she would be alright.  She’d pulled the I am sick card before when I was going to leave the house, and I wanted to be sure that she was going to be fine.

She was not.

It was a very big stroke, and she was never going to be fine again.

I stuck around because I wanted to know that she would be cared for, I still planned on leaving.

I thought that there was just too MUCH history, and that I had to make a break for Kahlil and myself and our collective sanity.

Then things went wrong with the ex and then it became apparent that Valerie was not interested in my mother’s care and comfort, rather she was interested in her bank accounts and the deed to her house.

I eventually took over, because there was no one else who could.

Some may question how and why it ever got as far as it did, all that I can say is that while this is not a choice that I regret, it was not my first course of action.

We’ve been alone now for 3 years.

Just momma, the boy and myself.

It’s been a long 3 years.

First the fights from the ‘concerned’ family members, then the battle to keep her healthy, and these days it is the battle to not lose my sanity, and my ability to think critically.

It seems like an exaggeration, but come spend the day with me, and then tell me you could do what I do 24/7 – 365.

I am getting tired, of having the same conversation with the woman who can not talk.

I am given the cold shoulder, and given attitude, because her “family” (and boy do I use that term loosely) is not here.

We’ve lived in this house for over 30 years. We’ve had the same phone number for 20.

If the cousins, and nieces and nephews, wanted to know how she was doing, they could figure out a way to do that.

Yet the phone rarely rings, and when it does it is the niece, my cousin Cathy, who was instrumental in helping my Aunt Valerie abscond with all that my mother valued.

Despite her involvement, I’ve not banned her from this house.  Only one person is banned and that is Valerie.

Cathy has been welcome to come when I am here.

She’s chosen not to.

Some may say that I am still far too generous, but I attempt to be kind to this woman, my mother, who still shoves me aside to seek the approval of those who could care less.

She’s done it for years, and while I should not have expected any different after her stroke, I allowed myself to think:

I have given up my future

To preserve her present

To make her as comfortable and happy as I know how

not knowing if this will last a month or 10 more years

That should finally be enough.

Yet it is not.

Maybe it is time that I stopped fighting the good fight.