Gramma
Before surgery, I knew I wouldn't be attending the monthly bike club meeting. There had to be an excuse for not showing up, so I decided to have slipped on the ice, hurting my ankle. I needed to stay on the couch until I got in to see the doctor. Dave went alone. I'd seen enough of the club last month. There had been a pool tournament, a regular meeting, and an Abate party.
I got a call from my eldest son.
"Did you have surgery?"
"No, why?"
"I saw the picture."
"I fell off the donkey."
"Yeah, right," but he knew it was possible.
"Did you have your tumor taken out?"
"No." I have a brain tumor, so it was possible.
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," he said. "But how are you doing."
"Fine. Nice she could call you and not me."
"Yeah, you know how she is." She kept us all at a distance.
"Can I talk to my grandson?" It was a good ploy for getting off the phone.
"Sure."
We banter briefly about nothing, exchange I love you's and are done.
I'm angry, upset, hurt and baffled by my daughter not calling me. Is her boyfriend isolating her? Is she overwhelmed by life, curled up in a ball under the covers. Is she mad at me? I can't help but think she is. This situation is a constant source of distress.
She said she doesn't like calling with bad news all the time, so I have to think things are not good. Is she living out of her car again? She rarely answers when I call her. When she does call, if I don't answer, she leaves a message to call her back, but does not pick up.
I see a therapist once a month, for more years than I can remember. I used to see her twice a month. I suffer from a plethora of issues complicated by a family tree full of bipolar, including myself. So I worry incessantly about the welfare of my daughter. Our symptoms are alike--severe bouts of debilitating depression being the most prevalent.
My heart aches. Having a beer is not recommended with the pain meds or the healing process. I'm trying not to cry. I take a knock-out pill and go to bed.
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