pass the damn ham....

i am home in vermont...and i joined a library book club, along with my 2 sisters (pam and dee).  'to kill a mockingbird' by harper lee. great book. great film. pam whizzed through the book.  pam also left for her florida vacation this past week so dee and i attended week two's discussion minus pam. and neither of us have finished the book. yet.

tonight, it was cold and rainy. brother skip came for his wednesday night supper at dee's. skip is deaf, has epilepsy and cerebral palsy, and lives alone in the village. these weekly suppers keep us connected. after the meal, dee drives him to buy his cigarettes (yes, we have tried to discourage his smoking) and then takes him to the market for grocery shopping. tonight,  an elderly man hobbled along with a cane, accompanied by his grandson. they were walking in the dark, in the rain, to the market.

they finished shopping the same time as skip. dee offered them a ride. the old man lives in skip's building and they were carrying lots of bags. they appreciated the ride. so we crowded into the car and dropped skip and his two neighbours off  at the apartment building, armed with their plastic bags of groceries, as the night rain fell.

dee and i talked about the struggles people endure in life as we sat in her car. somehow we ended up talking about 'to kill a mockingbird.'  we are both halfway through the book. i just finished reading about mrs. dubose, the grouchy old neighbour. dee is just beginning that chapter. "mrs. dubose is addicted to morphine," i inform my sister. "really?" she answers, surprised. "did you remember to pick up mom's morphine perscription today?" i groan. no, i did not. i forgot.

we talk about mom. about her ten year use of morphine. about her moods. about our arguments when we are overly frustrated with her. a light actually goes off in my head. i have an 'aha' moment.  my 87 year old mother, restricted to a wheelchair after 3 hip surgeries,  is dependent on morphine. and she has physical withdrawals when her prescription is altered. like when i forget to pick up the meds.  like her moodiness at supper tonight. her flushed face. her loss of appetite.

i have assumed she behaves the way she does because she chooses to behave that way. but i suddenly realize that i have never considered the effects of the morphine into the equation. poor mom. i had no idea. dee and i are both quiet as we absorb this new truth, as the rain falls on the dark streets, as we drive home.

so i am sitting here now, digesting the events of the evening. there is a reason i signed up for the book club. a reason that i focused on mrs. dubose's morphine addiction. i think i understand my mom and her struggles a little better. i am grateful for that.