Signs - Everywhere A Sign

This is purely an observation, not a criticism - but the last few times I have seen my mom, she has started to cry. I confess these days I have a bit of a Nora Desmond-like look about me (the Carol Burnett version - you had to be there) but when just looking at you, inspires this kind of response - the feelings of the subject of this emotion (me) are hard to put into words. I do not walk in her shoes so I have only an inkling of how hard this must be - not just because she knows I will not recover from this - but because she feels helpless to stop this train. If this had come out of the blue it might be different, but she has felt the weight of many, many years of watching this unfold - and from the beginning understood more than anyone else in my life that there was no fight left in me - knew as soon as I said the words "no intervention" why this seemed the logical - no necessary - route to take. It is not for lack of love on her part - just a quiet resignation about the ways things have been and are now. Ironically she knows that I would fight and push and harangue anyone I loved who might land in trouble - I'd be opening up my wallet - intervening in any way I could - to fix things - to try to make it go away. But in the context of my own life -there has grown a taller and thicker wall that seems to stand in the way of fighting for my own well-being and after a few decades you stop even attempting to jump over it. Every month I dutifully get my lab work done and every month the numbers look more out of whack. So last week there was another reckoning - another series of numbers to contrast and compare. I really don't need to open up these reports at all...I see it in my mother's eyes, in the way one of my nephews averted his gaze several times when we met the other day - not in a mean way, but just reading the information written all over my face. We all see it - it is inescapable now. I am repeating myself - I know this. It is the same story repackaged - the same lyrics - repeat - repeat - repeat...I think I want it to stop, but I don't. Wondered as I looked through the rooms one last time, if the townhouse we are buying will actually be a place I will move in to? Wonder if I am "lucky" - as my doctors tell me - to die this way what the "un-lucky" people must feel like? Wonder how - how soon it will stop? Questions and more questions and right at the moment, nothing but time for them to fester and multiply. The fact is I don't feel well. My most recent prescription caused a horrible reaction (which serves me right for mocking the topic) and the "comfort measures" I signed onto seem far away. I can talk to my doctor and try again - try something else - try to stop feeling bad about feeling bad and get on with it. If this was a book, I wouldn't read it - I'd have turned the corner of this page over carefully and put it back on the shelf. Enough - it doesn't interest me anymore - new topic - please...