Weekend Freewrite

Here's my weekend freewrite!

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Weekend freewrite Part One: My mother was doing that thing she did. That thing with the rag in the sink.

My mother was doing that thing she did. That thing with the rag in the sink. She hasn't been in the kitchen for years since she's been sick. But today is different. Today she's reliving her past. Her mom and her mom's mom and her mom's mom's mom used to all do the same thing. They would clean with this one rag, wash it in the sink, ring it out and let it sit there to harden. I always found it disgusted and voiced this many times but today I stay silent because today is hard enough on her.

"Mom you okay?" I ask coming up to her. Her body's frail from the sickness plaguing her. Her bones apparent under her soft thin skin. Her eyes sunken and tired. You can tell she just simply wants to sleep, but can't.

She smiles that smile that I've gown up on. It's sweet, kind, and full of life, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "Of course I am darling. I know I'm going to be helped. I just know they'll find a cure." Her voice is soft but strained. As if she's forcing herself to speak. It's devastating to see her like this but I find hope. Somewhere deep inside of me it's there, and I hold on with everything I have. I have to... for her.

"Exactly." I say with a smile to match hers. The days are growing longer, the nights shorter, but for Mom, it doesn't matter the time of day. She's simply always tired, always waiting for the time when she can closes her eyes. "Are you ready?" I ask with her jacket in hand. She's always cold now. She nods and I place it around her.

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Weekend freewrite Part Two: The plane was two hours late.

The plane was two hours late. Mom was sitting in the wheel chair provided, I didn't bring hers because there'll be one when we arrive also, and then again at the hospital. There just simply wasn't a point to bringing it along. But now I wish I had, It would be more comfortable for her. I fix the blanket across her lap and hope that it arrives soon. It takes another half hour before it pulls into the gate. I don't want to wake her but I have to.

It's a struggle loading her onto the plane. The plane ride itself is only two hours but it's too long for her, but we simply have no choice. This doctor could be the answer to everything. It could be our saving grace. I say a silent prayer and hope that we at least get some answers. Once she's settled I get myself buckled in.

"You ready for this?" I ask trying to keep my nervousness out of my voice. She nods with a smile, unable to speak. You visibly see the pain in her eyes, the fatigue in her bones. I have to look away but not before she closes her eyes for yet another nap.

The plane starts and we're on our way. I hate flying, I always have. I just keep my mind to what's awaiting us when we get there, and to the woman next to me. She's my life, always has been and always will be. I just breath through the worry and horrible anxiety and focus. This will be good. It has to be.

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Weekend freewrite Part Three: The way he writes with both his left and right hand.

The way he writes with both his left and right hand is very odd. I've never seen a doctor do that. He takes his vital signs with one hand and writes with the next, but in the next minute he switches hands. I'm in awe by such a simple achievement. I hope he continues to impress me.

"So what do you think?" I ask as I hold my mom's frail hand.

He sighs, "Well the cancer has progressed, but I think we can do something to help. This will be a long hard process but one I think you will benefit from, as long as you are both willing to endure such a task." He says as he writes away.

I look at my mom. I'm not sure how much more she can take, "Will this lengthen her life? Will it make it go away?" I look back to him.

His sad eyes meet mine, "Well... it might lengthen her life, however, the cancer is too bad my dear. It won't ever disappear completely. It's not likely."

My mom smiles sadly, "How long do I have without the treatment?" She asks.

He looks to her and it's as if they have their own understanding, as if they speak with just their eyes. "Days... maybe."

She nods and looks to me, tears in her eyes, "Then I guess I better spend them doing something fun with my daughter." She says it as if she knew all along. As if she was ready for this. As if this was the only way.

"Mom..." I say choking on my words. I can't have her leave me. We simply have to try.

"Lets go do some fun things darling. Lets make these the best damn days of our lives." She holds my hand tighter. And so begins the last days of her life...

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