“What type of tea is sometimes hard to swallow? Reali-tea.” This Laffy Taffy wrapper joke could not be more true. When reality hits, it sucks the air out of your lungs. Your eyes water and your mouth goes dry. Your feet become cinder blocks, and your heart feels like it has been punctured by a stake. The last time this happened to me, I realized one of my most dreaded questions was closing in. What happens to my mom when I leave for college? My mother fights a daily battle with a chronic illness. This autoimmune disease is called Ankylosing Spondylitis (AS), a difficulty only 0.13% (source) of the United States population deals with. Although AS directly affects my mother, many forget it also takes a toll on my family. Most of my life
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There are millions of occurrences with my mother and her illness that the public eye never sees. When her back, or knees, or ankles, or neck, or anything really, hurts, she asks my brother, father, or I to rub it. With the amount of massages I have given since I was at least eight, I could give a masseuse a run for her money. I give my mother a rub at least once a day. While I do, I’ll talk to her about my day, and give her a window to the outside world, which I feel is most important now than ever, for my mother has hit a rough patch. She has never been in the house for this long of a stretch before. In past years, she would still go to the store, or go out to grab the family something for dinner. However, this year she is not able to drive. So, either my father grabs something on his way home from work at 8:00 or I make something. I will also step up when my mother needs work done around the house. This frustrates me, for I am always the one to help her out at home, and my brother seems to get away scot free. This is not the truth, of course, but there definitely is an imbalance. I typically do not mind doing things for my mom, though, after they are completed. I am glad that I can help, because I know if she tried to do it on her own, it would cause her more pain. Another major point about having an ill parent, is that I need to step up, and can not run from
There are millions of occurrences with my mother and her illness that the public eye never sees. When her back, or knees, or ankles, or neck, or anything really, hurts, she asks my brother, father, or I to rub it. With the amount of massages I have given since I was at least eight, I could give a masseuse a run for her money. I give my mother a rub at least once a day. While I do, I’ll talk to her about my day, and give her a window to the outside world, which I feel is most important now than ever, for my mother has hit a rough patch. She has never been in the house for this long of a stretch before. In past years, she would still go to the store, or go out to grab the family something for dinner. However, this year she is not able to drive. So, either my father grabs something on his way home from work at 8:00 or I make something. I will also step up when my mother needs work done around the house. This frustrates me, for I am always the one to help her out at home, and my brother seems to get away scot free. This is not the truth, of course, but there definitely is an imbalance. I typically do not mind doing things for my mom, though, after they are completed. I am glad that I can help, because I know if she tried to do it on her own, it would cause her more pain. Another major point about having an ill parent, is that I need to step up, and can not run from