My mother is a warrior

You can come to terms with the fact that your parent will eventually die (and for some of us it comes far sooner than it should). You can prepare as much as you want but nothing can prepare you for the emotional strain of watching the person who once was your rock shrivel up to barely dust. To watch them in constant pain. To feel like no matter what you do you can’t get ahead of their slow and traumatic decline. To feel so overwhelmed that breathing underwater seems more doable than surviving this. I don’t dream of changing the world anymore. I dream of time machines wishing I could prevent the moment my mother contracted hepatitis c, I dream that she gets a new liver, I dream of wishful futures where she gets to play with her grand babies. But none of these dreams will come true. Instead, I’m holding on to memories. Desperately trying to make a list of “The Most Important Lessons from my Mother.” These are the foundation on which I was built. A foundation that can withstand anything (with support of course). My mother is a warrior and I’m trying my best to be one too.

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