General Admission

I would never admit it, not in a million and one years, no way, not me, no how. But somehow, I am afraid of whatever it is that is happening to her. Every step, I notice, is different. Not as sturdy as the ones before and never, never as neat. I imagine that if she were pulled over by an officer to walk the "line of sobriety," she would most definitely be taken away, even though she hasn't had a drink in years. But I am slowly beginning to realize that I fear that disease which is taking over her system. I hate it for choosing her. Every step, every step now is different, and I pray that she doesn't fall over again. Because I am not always around to catch her, or to carry those items up and down the stairs for her because despite knowing, she is a proud woman, and she will try and fail before she will ask for help, sometimes. But that disease, I hate it. Because I never know when it will decide to take advantage of that woman whom I love so dearly. Sneaky, rotten illness that laughs as it sneaks up on her and causes her to break her beautiful things. It pushes her into hard items, bruising her delicate skin. And when she tries to fight it, it attacks her with a light sensitive migraine. Curse that disease. But I am still afraid, knowing that there is nothing yet that can be done to defeat it. For now, we can only slow down its hateful ways. Yet still, although her walk is a little more crooked and her balance often has to catch up with her, she never complains, although I can see that sadness in her eyes. She tells me, "This dreadful thing will never stop me because I have something that no doctor or medicine or money can conquer, and that's the grace of God." And that is where I get my strength. I love my mama.