I’ve talked about my rocky relationship with my parents before. Especially when it concerns my Arthritis.
I’ve written about the day I got my first cane and my dad’s harsh judgement.
It’s been really hard, not having my parents’ support or understanding.
It never made me angry with them. More sad, that they couldn’t be there for me.
Well, last week my mom had major surgery. A hysterectomy to be exact.
I knew before what a hysterectomy was, so when my mom called me to tell me she’d be going in for surgery in two days, I knew of the difficult recovery she’d have to face.
So when she got released from the hospital after a couple days, I drove over to my parents’ house, prepared to take care of her.
I know she wasn’t expecting it, but to be honest, I knew I’d do it even before she asked.
Not because it was my job as her daughter– she hadn’t taken care of me when I needed it most.
Not because she deserved it- because she defintely didn’t.
Not even because I wanted revenge or to make her feel guilty– show her what she could’ve, but didn’t do for me.
I did it because it’s the right thing to do and I always knew if the roles were reversed- which they now were– I would take care of someone who needed help.
I’m not a stranger to needing help. Not one bit.
I’m a disabled, sick girl with Rheumatoid Arthritis.
There’s so many things I can’t do on my own. There’s so many things I need help with day in and day out.
So when someone else needs help, when someone is sick. I know. I know the feeling.
I know what it feels to be in pain. To not be able to do things you can normally do.
That’s why I did what I did. That’s why I chose to take care of my mother when she was in pain, unable to bend over, unable to take a shower or wash her hair, unable to cook or clean or drive to the pharmacy.
I did it because I know how it feels and because I know how it feels, I knew I could help her.