Pillar

It’s past 10 when she calls me.

She needs someone to vent to, to listen, to keep her head from spinning, to keep her from crying.

She talks of her lack of sleep. How every night she is up multiple times checking on her, making sure she hasn’t fallen out of bed, helping her to the bathroom.

She talks about the circular conversations. How she couldn’t remember her own child’s name. How her heart breaks seeing her mother slip away slowly.

She talks of greed. How her brother and his partner have their hand out for jewelry. How material is more important to them then moments and my blood boils.

She talks of her pain, her exhaustion, her frustration, her fear. And I listen quietly, making sounds of  acknowledgement as my mother talks for over a hour to me on the phone.

I don’t let the tears falling down my cheeks come in to my voice. She has told me I can’t cry as she can’t break right now. She needs to be strong. So I do my best to be her pillar.

Until I’m off the phone.

Then I become the breaking one. Leaning on my partners as I sob and tremble. Trying to make something hurt less that hasn’t even really reached it’s peak.