My mom lives about 10 hours away from me. That ten hours is so far away! The drive is so long. She doesn’t work. I always ask her to come closer to me. Please? A temporary job brought her to San Rafael for a short three months. Every other weekend I loaded up the car with the girls and we drove to visit her. One hour. One short, sweet hour. And spent a whole Sunday morning with her. Sunday is such a sacred day to me and to spend it with my mom at the farmers market or sitting on the patio just meant so much to me.
My Papa Verma is in the last stages of his life. He is in need of assistance to do everything. Eat, bathe, walk. So sad. The old man that used to chase me around with a wooden spoon to give me spankings when we lived overseas can’t even hold his own spoon to feed himself. Life is cruel sometimes.
Mama Verma is too old and too rickety to take care of her husband. So mom got on a plane a month ago. And flew 10 hours. FLEW. That ten hours is so very far from me. So, so far.
Today I had a bad day. I day where I wanted to yell, “DON’T THESE PEOPLE KNOW HOW HARD I WORK?” I would usually call mom but she has no international calling plan. She wasn’t at her computer to Skype with me. There was no new Facebook message from her. I came home, picked up my phone three times wanting to press her number but the voice on her message box would make me cry. I did it anyway. I called her number. Listened to her voice and hung it up. And I cried.
She won’t be back until March. That is such a long time from now. So, so long.
I miss you, mom. Please take care of your mom and dad. Love you.
Mom and me. Our house in England. April 1979.
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