Another Visit
01-03-2009 Sunday
Even though I didn't really enjoy visiting my mom at the rehab, I have to because first, I am her petitioner, second, I have the money, and three, I don't want my gramma to go there alone without me. Some relative of ours came with us for the visit and I was thankful, the more the merrier right?
I didn't get any sleep on the way to the rehab, what's with everyone in the car (my gramma's brother let us use his car with his brother-in-law in charge of the wheels) talking loudly, trying to catch up with each other's latest has-beens. I was seated in the corner with the sun burning down at the side of my face, it was a hot afternoon and after the 2 and a half hour ride, my left cheek is red with slight sunburn and I was hoping so bad that it wouldn't peel.
We arrived at the Rehab at around 3pm and we've undergone the usual strict body check which is something I'm used to,but what I don't like about it is that they confiscated my pack of Black Bat, I mean like confiscated without being able to get it back afterwards. Shit, that has like almost 10 sticks in it, bummer.
We chose a nice little hut with a long table and they started setting the food while I head straight to the Staff Office where I signed a permission slip for my mom then I went to her dorm to pick her up. She walked out of the dorm sleepily, and I pretended to be happy to see her, gesturing her to go out. The other patients told her to fix her hair and prepare before going out so I just told her to follow and I headed back to the hut.
In a couple of minutes, she was walking towards us, still sad, still wanting to go home, telling my gramma that she's lonely out here. I sighed and concentrated on eating instead. She looked thinner, darker, probably sunburned from frequent duties under the sun. If you ask me, she looked fine but not a hundred percent because whenever she would say something, some words are still repetitions and that angers me. If she goes out and acts weird again, I swear I'm gonna ask someone to shoot her in the head, I fuckin wasted a whole lot of money for her to get well in this fucking rehab so I'm expecting her to act normal when she goes out.
She is scheduled for release this 24th of January and it was like a ticking time bomb in my head. What will our lives be like when she's back. She looked eager to go home, go home and what? Ruin our lives again? If I have lots of money, I would want her to be confined for 6 months or maybe a year but that would cost me an amount of money that will make me puke blood. I have more or less three weeks to figure out what to do when she's back home. That's what I kept on thinking as they had fun conversations to cheer her up.
What I also don't like is my gramma preparing a whole lot of food for her. The food she bought and cooked for us could accommodate a dozen and we're like 6 people there plus my mom. I'm pretty sure that those food came out of my pay and it irritates me because my mom wanted to share most of those food to the other patients. I already warned my gramma about it, that she might to that, I don't know if she's trying to act like a relative of some rich god or if it's still part of her mental disorder but it's killing me. It's my fucking salary and I think it's enough for me to spend almost all of my pay for her monthly bill to spend more for food that my gramma is buying but she ended up giving out to some bitch whose family could well afford tons of goodies anyway.
I'm giving my gramma the look that says, I told you so, when my mom said that she wanted to give the food we're no longer able to eat to the other patients. Maybe she's become a charitable institute and I'm just unaware of it. Either way, I hate it, I hate wasting money to those who don't deserve it.
We stayed till the sun is almost out and I can feel my head throbbing, begging me shut my eyes and sleep but they all seem to wanna stay with my mom. Eventually, they decided to go home. My mom hugged each one of us, when it's my turn, I faked sympathy and I was good at it, I tell ya.
The ride home was cooler, the windows of the car were open except when were at the Expressway. It also drizzled a bit, and I managed to get a shallow sleep on the way home. When I woke up, we're almost at home so I stayed awake.
The car pulled up in front of our house and it seemed I was out of the house for a few days, it felt like a long, long, long day for me, not to mention, extremely tiring. When we got inside, my gramma went to the kitchen to prepare dinner while I went inside the room and savored the peacefulness, thinking of the remaining days I have left before hell returns and it worries me.
It's the 3rd today. I have 21 days. God, 21 days to figure out what to do when she gets here, don't worry it doesn't include a gun, YET.
Labels: daughter, home, mother, pink crimson, Rehab. CLDRC
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