The air choked from her lungs as the pain jolted violently down to her toes, searing through its ungodly familiar path. She knelt there on the bathroom floor paralyzed; afraid to move when she felt his chubby fingers push the bangs out of her eyes.
“Momma? Momma boo boo?” he said.
She had only tried to help him out of his soiled underwear.
“Yes, Momma boo boo her back.” she forced out.
It was only 9 in the morning, and her day was already over before it actually began. At 30 years old, this life of chronic pain was her cross to bear every waking, sleeping minute of her day. And like any other day there was no time to feel sorry for herself because life moved on with or without her.
She rather moved along with it. Especially for him.
She wiped away the tears that instantaneously rolled down her cheeks and replaced them with a fake air of courage for her son.
Her strength to push forward and fight.
“I’m ok” she said, as she maneuvered her way slowly and carefully to standing.
She made her way to the kitchen and took note of the unpaid medical bills on the counter.
The bills her employer was supposed to pay that are now her burden.
Then to the cupboard.
Then to the pills she paid for with her own hard earned money.
She swallowed each one with ease.
Yet she could never choke down the anger and hate.
Those are always the hardest pills to swallow.