Damn pendulums

Watching her sleep today was hard.

She was up all night last night from a pain in her neck muscles that extended all the way up through her head. I slept soundly through the entire night. How dare I?

So she slept through much of the day today. Her sleep is uncomfortable. She grinds her teeth. Her face twitches. Uncomfortable sounds escape from her mouth from time to time. My dad uses that phrase a lot ... "time to time." Whereas we say "sometimes," my dad says, "time to time." He also says "shall" instead of "will." "I shall go to the store." "I shall check the mail." "I shall take care of it."

My nani and I watch her sleep. And she whispers to me her regrets. "I knew she was sick. Her body was purple. And I knew she was sick." I can't imagine. She lost her husband when my mom was 16 ... from leukemia. This watching is hard work. If she skips just one breath, you start to panic. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet. And she always breathes again.

And it's strange, the things you become comfortable talking about with each other. Like bowel movements. And how, when she was in the hospital, my dad asked me if she would need more panties. My mom is unashamed of her distended belly. Could give a rat's ass about the grey in her hair. We trim her nails for practical reasons.

We all sat around the dinner table tonight and watched Family Feud. One of the questions was, "What was Paris Hilton's first word as a baby?" And my mom and I agreed on "Drink," which wasn't one of the answers. We laughed. It's hard for her to keep her head up. She falls asleep so quickly. She went up to bed soon after.

I don't want her to go.

And I miss you all so much and would give anything for an hour at Guadalajara or at Liberty for drinks or spent on late night Buffy watching or just, just, just, an hour that would remind me of everything that's going to make this, eventually, okay. My aunt and I have planned a short outing for tomorrow, just the two us, to get away, if it all seems okay.