Looking at so many Facebook posts from people of my generation, and a little older, regarding their ailing parents. I guess this is where we are in life. And it sucks, some of it because we hate seeing our parents suffer. The other concern is a selfish one - how long do I have before I'm in that shape? I can't imagine we are the first to feel this way. Yet, I don't remember my parents expressing such thoughts. Maybe they were tougher, or just too busy raising us to do much naval gazing.
My mom is probably not going to get chemo. Her latest bloodwork was not good and the oncologist said she is presently too weak to even consider it. We'll see how this plays out.
Here's a song that will probably be on the next record. Since it mentions Memorial Day specifically, I thought I'd post the lyrics. I wrote it with my cat on my lap, thus it is entitled "Song for Simone."
The cat that’s napping in my lap doesn’t care about my leg that has fallen asleep
And the needles and the pins that penetrate my flesh are stabbing me down deep
The floor needs cleaning my feet are sticking the clock that’s ticking doesn’t care
There aren’t hours in the day to do the things I need to do despite what I’d like to do
Bags parked underneath my eyes subtly supply details of a failed night’s rest
Lines around my mouth frown despite facial calisthenics invented by a glamour magazine polemicist
The children I guarded so closely don’t notice me and do not acknowledge
The Easter, birthday, Christmas cards I bought and wrote notes professing my love and worry for them
And what does the world think of me
And does the world think of me
What does the world think of me
And does the world think of me
Flowers planted by my hand flourished now that it’s the fall they have all died away
On his grave all that remains a dollar store flag July 4th, Veteran’s, and Memorial Day
He’d fly a big one bar none if he were still alive out of respect
For what most including me forget we owe a debt of gratitude we don’t pay
And what does the world think of me
And does the world think of me
And what does the world think of me
And does the world think of me
The cat that’s napping in my lap doesn’t care about my leg that has fallen asleep
And the needles and the pins that penetrate my flesh are stabbing me down deep