Sunday, August 7, 2016

Sunset in Black and White

A sunset without colors is just a marker, a way of indicating the passage of time. This day is done; better rest up for tomorrow. Lately it does seem that the days are just boxes to be checked off, one at a time. There are lots and lots of boxes filling my days.

There are the little boxes in Mom's pill minder that need to be monitored, and re-filled weekly. But some days those boxes cannot provide enough structure, and a pill is missed or a double dose nearly ingested. Thankfully it is not a life-or-death kind of pill.

There are the boxes created on the notepad where Mom also writes down what pills she takes and when. The day of the week and date is followed by her shorthand for the type of medication -- BP, Pain, Horizant -- and some times the days seem to mix together, and the lines on the notepad are unable to contain the confusion. No, today is still Saturday.  Tomorrow is the 8th. And so on. Adding a new medication creates chaos. Did I take that pill? I forgot to take my pill. Am I supposed to take a pill? What is this pill for? All these questions in the course of an hour's time.

So I need one box for my impatience, another for my snark, and a separate, waterproof container for all the tears I cannot cry.