The Most Important Tool Is Love

Changes

Finally it happened. I was readying the noon meal and had been summoned to her room for what seemed the gazillionth time, when I just lost it. I slumped into the chain in her room and grabbed one of my aching swollen feet, cradling it in my lap. I pressed my back into the chair (I just know it's broken, it feels broken) and glared at her.

"What the hell do you want this time?" I said in a slow, menacing voice.

"I saw at that very moment that she wanted so hard to please me"

This question set in motion a rapid cascade of things. My mother looked at me quizzically, then opened her mouth. She saw my hostile expression and tried to explain herself, but all she could do was offer some sputtering that sounded much like a stalled train. But I could see the wheels in motion -- what would it be this time? Change the TV? No, that was worn to death. Perhaps she had a hangnail or needed a blanket or wanted more milkshake or maybe I had forgotten the straw or she was just plain thirsty. Maybe she needed to use the potty by the bed again, or maybe she was too hot or too cold. She sputtered and stammered, trying to think of some way to satisfy my question, but you could see that nothing would come to her poor, dear brain. The more she looked at me and stammered, the more she noticed my stern expression, and the more she sputtered like a kettle coming to boil.

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