It’s June 24th. The year is 2019. I am 49 years old. 7 times 7.
In a month I will see my mother. She is unaware of the sadness in the world. Unaware of the strife and pain. Unaware of yesterday. Probably unaware of tomorrow. I am sad, afraid and happy to be seeing her. Dementia is what they call it. Sometimes in this time of world destruction I wish my brain was where hers is and I could focus more only on this moment and be… well… a consumer without concerns. I would buy things. I would throw things away. I would charge them. I would seek comforts. I could enjoy them without guilt. The UPS driver would become familiar with my door.
But no. Even a lid on the paper coffee cup makes me guilty. The fact I forgot my own mug when I left home makes me guilty. The shower water I waste makes me guilty. The energy I use to turn on my computer so I can listen to music as I type this makes me guilty.
And then to know that I am not doing enough, yet others are doing so much less to preserve the world, sends me into a spiral of despair and hopelessness.
I want the moment my mom has. Over and over.