My mom

August 5, 2012

My mom almost threw a fork at me. I hate alzheimers.

I was so scared. Like really really scared. Her face, trembling with anger, the fork raised above her head.

I ducked down under the table, DON’T MOM.

Dad said, Jewel, stop that, pulling down her arm. My heart was racing.

If someone is two feet away from you and throws a fork at your face, it could hurt. She didn’t throw the fork.

I had asked her if she was going to finish eating her dinner. Are you done mom?

no, she said.

Are you sure?

She was putting the fish and quinoa in her hand. Shoveling it into her open palm. I hadn’t made enough fish for everyone because the boys never eat it anyway so i sort of wanted her leftovers. If she wasn’t going to eat it, I’d make them eat it.

But then she was putting it all in her hand.

Mom, I said. Stop.

She kept scooping it.

Mom. Let me take your plate.

i reached over and that’s when she went after me. YOU STOP IT!!! she yelled at me, with that fork.


My mom is sick.


We take a breath after it has all happened. I take the plates to the full sink and breathe. Breathe. Dad is saying things to her. He says, We dont throw forks, Jewel. You scared her.

I did not, Mom says. Laughing.

you did, he says. You scared her.

I want to calm down. I need to calm down. I try not to let the tears spill out because Dad doesn’t need that.

I compose myself and walk back to the table.  say, how are you today, mom?

She fixes her shirt. The top shirt. She has on five.

Mom? How was your day?

She doesn’t answer.

Jewel, Dad will say, Jewel.

She’ll look at him. She still looks at my dad.


Ann Dee’s talking to you, he’ll say.


And then I try again.

how are you?

I’m fine.


She’s fine.


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