My mom is Finally at home,

where she belongs,

instead of just being moved

from one hospital room to another

that land on my list of numbers

growing up up up instead of down.

Just as soon as I started memorizing

each number without having to think

about it twice, let alone rummage

for that backwards list of mine,

is when they'd always move her again. Each time they moved her, they said

it was to a floor where they could watch her more closely

and take better care of her.

And each time they said that, I worried

more about what all they could have

neglected taking care of before.

Mom went into the hospital the day after mother's day, which was the day after my birthday, for a hysterectomy. I was so stressing that weekend, I just wanted to be able to get drunk to get through those three days she was supposed to be in the hospital.

But I didn't get anything to drink. And those three days turned into three weeks. Well, that actually turned into four I guess. May was entirely wiped away for her, she just wrote across all of the little blocks representing days in her hallmark mini calendar "w.h.a.t. t.h.e. h.e.c.k. h.a.p.p.e.n.e.d?"

I haven't been coping. I should've come back here to write *weeks* ago, when I wanted to. Because I have so much shite to deal with, and no more ventilation with all my writing cut off. There's always so much I haven't written, that I never know where to begin. So, kinda like my lists of numbers and names and things to get or do, I'll start at the bottom and maybe work my way up eventually I guess.

I've been having such an issue with guilt...guilt for not being there, living with my parents, to help out with so many of the little things that fall apart and behind. I don't want anybody else to have to deal with them, I know they have enough to handle, and I really don't want my mother having to be overwhelmed when she gets home.

They really can't afford this. My stepdad hasn't been eating well enough...he's been broke, saving the last of his change to be able to ride the bus to the hospital everyday.

I had wanted to go back and stay with them while she was recovering BEFORE all of the complications started happening. Now there's so much I've wanted to do to help, and nothing I really can, that it just makes me cry. All the time.

All this guilt... I think I should've been there, with them, through all of this, every minute of it. I tried moving back this year, if only I could've stayed there... it would've been so much better.

But not everything better, that would mess other things up too, so I know that's just an issue, and a hope, not a truth.

Nothing could make it all better.

Nothing. Could. Make. Her. All. Better. The guilt issue is only the tip of it, all of the other conflicts that make up a huge iceberg are even harder to pluck out and deal with.