These past three weeks have been strange and unfamiliar, as I trip over my discomfort from watching my Mother recover from surgery. She's the strongest, most sensible among us, and I have felt grossly inadequate trying to care for her recently.
Not that she needed much: lifting a jug of milk here, a laundry basket there, but still. My heart aches when she goes to rest; she runs on duracell most days, and napping is not on her schedule.
John Mayer is no great philosopher, but I've thought often of his song lyrics that talk about watching his parents grow old, and how he himself is "only good at being young."
It's an honor to be able to help out in even small ways. And, more than ever, it cements my contentment in making the decision to move back home.
This is where I'm needed, and where I want to be.
Be well.
