When Mom and I began her journey in 2015, my tears burned. They did more than burn my eyes. They burned sadness into my soul.

There was a point that I knew God had held back my tears so that I could navigate and advocate for Momma. I had no emotions during that time. It’s so different now. I gasp for air as those tears cloud my vision. They attempt to turn my heart into nothingness.

With Momma on hospice now, those tears are abundant. Controlling her pain has turned into an experiment by the hospice nurse. This. That. This and that, plus a touch of the other.

This morning Mom smiled as I was getting her ready for her day. I cried. These were different. I reached her. I understood her wants. Last night I slept on the rollaway bed next to her. We listened to the Bible on Alexa. She ate all her breakfast of blueberry oatmeal with a vanilla Ensure. With two doses of morphine, she drifted to sleep.

Trying to find time to write is daunting. Either I am too tired or I need to attend to Momma. I say this is not fair. I’m human.

My time may not be now. My time will come. My future is so uncertain. With three older siblings, I and my daughter will have to lay Momma to rest by ourselves. They’ve told me they won’t be coming to Mommas homegoing. Who does that? Heartless heathens. One doesn’t call at all. One told me he’d never speak to me or my child if he couldn’t bring very socially active teens from another state to say goodbye to Momma. I told him I couldn’t allow that as the two COVID variants were found. The oldest passes along the update to them. It’s not normal. Not at all.

What pains me the most is that because my daughter has ASD, they behave as she’s a leper with the plague in medieval times.

So, my daughter and I take each day as it comes. The Home health care agency I work thru has done me a massive disservice. My disability is in jeopardy now because they received COVID money last year and padded their pockets. I was told if I didn’t work these thirty-four hours, I’d be fired. That the hours came from the Cooperate Office. Who can live on 431.00 dollars a month?

When we as members of humanity begin to openly intentionally step to destroy another person for money, we loose our dignity.

Somehow, somewhere a door will open for me and my writing. Then, I will no longer be dependent on others. It will be by the craft and God given gift of my hands.

Handmaidens, you are loved!


A Journeys Turn.

I know many are used to the photos I post of Momma. Her journey has turned. The dream of her, that she told me and my siblings, of her seeing Jesus lifted up on the cross, then her name written in the Lambs Book of Life.

Photo by Wendy van Zyl on Pexels.com

As a Christian, this is our hope.

As Mommas human daughter, I grew up being Her Baby. I was always welcomed into her bed after leaving mine. Her sheets were never wrinkled. She always had the radio on to another states program. She taught me about Old Time Radio and Masterpiece Theatre; Anna Karenina. Midnight hour preachers that spit and sputter into the microphone. It was always fire and damnation. That is when I would scoot under Momma and grab her night gown. She would turn over to place me on her chest. She would explain his down home way of preaching. But, to listen to the words he is saying. If it isn’t from the Bible, keep moving. Something in me just now wanted to put an emoji at the end of the last sentence!

There have been days I have broken down and cried. I am mourning before Mom has passed. The change has been so drastically quick. When I say, I literally have no clue. You better hear me.

My daughter is having a very hard time with her Grandmothers illness journey. See too has gone through many emotions. Now, times that by 15. Her ASD has been unkindly exacerbated by COVID19. Her mental and physical health have been assaulted and challenged. She feels as if her life has been stolen from her. First, by Momma getting sick. Second, by my having to do it alone. It has left me no time for her. She’s My Baby.

Right now, my future position is precarious. This journey has made me truly stand for what I believe. No more than just my toes in the water. I see the absolute fear in Mommas eyes now that the pain is unbearably clock work. Tears running down both our faces as I administer and she receives the morphine. I know what I hope, for me and my daughter. That’s been laid at the Altar, already.

We used to take things day by day. Now, it’s moment by moment.

Be Blessed,

Alicia / XOXO