Mother and daughter
As usual I am far too brusque. I cannot bring myself to wait for her and go ahead to her room to turn on the lights, the heating, get the pills out. She comes slowly, dithering, full of wonder at the starless night. I tell her it is overcast, silently wishing she’d behave like a grown up. Of course, she is, she is beyond a grown up. She has grown out of adulthood and is going back again. I am sorry with all my heart. I feel guilty. There is no reprieve for me or for her. But she is well enough. She goes from almost dead to being quite well within hours. Eating is difficult for her, messy and noisy. It is not comfortable sitting with her at the table. It is horrible. It is not her fault, but it is still horrible. I am sorry about this, and guilty.
We watched a German film called, Stations of the Cross. Catholicism taken to its extreme leading to unnecessary death. In my opinion it was stupid from the start, yet bewitching to watch. Ma liked the idea that young people could be so religious. She was taken by surprise.