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11:18 p.m. - 2004-11-07 Mom's in hospital. I knew she'd been in bad shape for a while now, and not getting any better, but I haven't been admitting to myself how sick she might really be. I don't think she's been admitting it to herself either, but... it feels like, in being her daughter, in knowing how she is when it comes to herself, her own needs and health, I ought to have seen the signs sooner... done something, somehow, though I can't imagine what or how. Forced her to take care of herself instead of always putting everybody else's needs first. I want to believe that everything will be ok, to wrap myself in a cocoon of denial and false hope, because acknowledging that she's sick is allowing myself to believe also that she's mortal. Imperfect. Fragile. Reality stratifies in so many translucent layers that it's hard to understand what I'm actually looking at, or how far away it might be. If I had the choice, I'd give up my own health (and life) for hers, because, deep down inside, I know that's she's a better person than I am.
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