Most Thursdays between the time I get home from work and taking Emily to dance class, we go visit my mother.
If you don’t know the history of my mother, here’s a summary.
She’s been on Prozac (and assorted other antidepressants over the years) since it first came out. The Prozac led to sleeping pills, blood pressure pills, diabetes pills, anxiety pills, etc. etc. Now she takes around twenty pills a day and can barely walk on her own.
She’s 62 years old.
Sometimes when we go to visit her, she’s asleep and the kids ALWAYS think she’s dead when they first see her. Her breathing is very shallow and you have to really watch to see it. It takes me several minutes to wake her up every time.
Last Thursday evening when I woke her up, she didn’t know who I was.
For as long as I live, I will NEVER forget the horror on her face … the fear that a stranger was in the house with her … the confusion of not knowing what was going on.
To say that it freaked the kids out would be putting it mildly.
After a few minutes she came around and was able to have a conversation with us.
I cried when I got home.