Day two of nine
Day two of nine son stories
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s0me0ne
s0me0ne Wordplay. Horseplay. Foreplay.
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My mother's thorns will not prick me any more.
Day Two (Part III) of me filling in as sole carer for my mother.

Day two of nine

Sitting down for lunch with my mother, she looks at the candle that sits ahead of her in the middle of the table.

"You're the rose amongst the thorns," she says, reading it.

"You're the rose amongst the thorns," she says, reading it. "Does that make me the thorns," I say and we laugh.

3 minutes later.

"Mmm. You're the rose amongst the thorns," Mum says. "That's lovely, isn't it?"

"Mmm. You're the rose amongst the thorns," Mum says. "That's lovely, isn't it?" "Yes, it is," I say, not looking up from my phone.

"Mmm. You're the rose amongst the thorns," Mum says. "That's lovely, isn't it?" "Yes, it is," I say, not looking up from my phone. Avoidance has, to date, been my method of dealing with mum's total absence of short-term memory.

2 minutes later

"You're the rose amongst the thorns," mum says.

"You're the rose amongst the thorns," mum says. Again.

"You're the rose amongst the thorns," mum says. Again. Except, this time I catch myself.

"You're the rose amongst the thorns," mum says. Again. Except, this time I catch myself. I'm not here to avoid these moments. I'm here to make new moments.

"I think I'm the rose mum, so that must make you the thorns." "Oh, you cheeky bugger," she says. And we laugh.

3 minutes later

"Isn't that nice? You're the rose amongst the thorns," mum reads aloud.

"Isn't that nice.? You're the rose amongst the thorns," mum reads aloud. "If you're the rose, then I think my sisters must be the thorns," I reply.

"Isn't that nice? You're the rose amongst the thorns," mum reads aloud. "If you're the rose, then I think my sisters must be the thorns," I reply. "Ooh, nasty."

"Isn't that nice? You're the rose amongst the thorns," mum says. "If you're the rose, then I think my sisters must be the thorns," I reply. "Ooh, nasty." We laugh.

And so it goes on....

Each time she notices the candle again, I try to come up with a new zinger.

Each time she notices the candle again, I try to come up with a new zinger. She is laughing.

Each time she notices the candle again, I try to come up with a new zinger. She is laughing. I am laughing.

Each time she notices the candle again, I try to come up with a new zinger. She is laughing. I am laughing. Moments together.

Mum is my rose.

Mum is my rose. The dementia is her thorns.

But I realise now, if I just stop trying so hard to avoid those thorns.

And focus all my energy on stopping to smell the roses.

That only then can I make the most of the time we still have together.

This is part of a series of pieces. I. Nine days https://commaful.com/play/s0me0ne/nine-days/ 2. Day one of nine https://commaful.com/play/s0me0ne/day-one-of-nine/ 3. Day two of nine https://commaful.com/play/s0me0ne/day-two-of-nine/ Love your mothers!

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