Dad’s 85th birthday, or it would have been. The day began and ended angrily, but in between we had a nice time.
When Ma came in this morning her face was full of dread for the day ahead. She looked haggard. She wasn’t wearing a bra, her hair was flat, her eyes dull. Like on so many mornings. I am in the midst of my chores. I need to hang up the washing, tidy my room, make A tea. It will take just a few minutes. Ma sits alone for about 15 minutes on Dad’s birthday and eats her breakfast.
When I sit down I suggest we go to the church together. She almost says ‘no’ but shrugs her shoulders and looks away. I offer a trip to the hairdresser, which horrifies her. There is no way she is going to do that today. I can’t help the anger and resentment rising. I tell her that this is no way to live, she must make an effort. She tells me that she has: she is out of bed. What would she say to herself if she were me? She said she’d say ‘go jump in the lake.'