In November last year my mom got sick. A thrombus or blood clot stuck in a vein near his brain and making irrigation obstructed lose consciousness. A stroke or thrombosis, they call it. When he awoke unable to move or speak. It was a Saturday afternoon when I received a phone call from a cousin who got me current. It was evening, and cache that was time that I had been thinking for some time. The next day I went early to Rancagua, the city of shit that carries me and my friend loves Chopa, each of the two with their own reasons. I had to bancármela nearly 20 years.
Since then I've been close to it as I could and I went to visit it every fortnight. The first month and a half I went every week and stayed several days. As fate would have a very dear aunt and a cousin who has proven to be an angel has taken charge of it, for it can not be alone and bring him to where I live would put in an uncomfortable situation, she, who never wanted to leave home. I abandoned the idea of \u200b\u200bstudying abroad because it could not go for long letting. And it is both miss it as you feel it is my responsibility, or at least I know she would not have been less if I had been in his situation. He recovered well, but will never be the same. His right arm was broken and lost the ability to speak. Transmits creek, equal, but is not understood anything. Spoke in a jargon-vowel syllables Wave Tototatetototototutoto ...", and you should try to cache that wave. In return his mood improved and is more cheerful, as more relaxed, she was tougher than the supermarket avocado ... Also (do not know why) did not want more hair dyed or dressed, as if he had said as the song of Alvaro HenrĂquez "alashushesumaaaa ...". At least now controls sphincter, which is a great thing, and walk on his own, ordering things, sets the table and eat and go to the bathroom alone. But it is not independent. He had to go and live with my aunt in a tiny apartment, and our house was inhabited only by tenants of the remaining parts, which are as reliable and good care. When I'm there, I do it in almost 20 years that was my part. At night I light the fire of the salamander, I walk home and feel full of memories and ghosts of the past. It Cuatic.
The garden is just dirt and weeds grown in pots. They cut the vine and the grape vines are emaciated and half withered. All is quiet. The good thing is that she is well within their means, where it is. Do not want to leave the depa, and his head is the color of the garlic. With glasses and short hair has an air of Andy Warhol. On Saturday we were in the car with Cecilia and the idea was to get her out for a walk. I did not want, I had to forcibly take; already weas nothing, you will not be locked the rest of your life here .... let me scratched, but finally I got the same no more, put it in the car and we went for a walk to Lo Miranda, a village near Ranchi where we had a summer home when I was a child. The town is not the same. The streets are paved and everything looks more urbanized. But I find the ways and was pleased; mom was happy and enjoyed it too.
When I buy tickets in the terminal, or when I'm third with a doorman told me ""..." Young, Young", "Good morning, young man," You're young "... and me laugh.
I'm not young. The future of my youth is gone. I am an adult, a man. Full of contradictions, uncertainties and ghosts. Intense rage, alert, with a hidden child. Like everyone else. Old age is just around the corner. The aging and death. And I'm running: my mother's smile tells me so. No hope, no sadness, so no more. Must be good if it is. It was dust and dust return soon, within a few years. Meanwhile squeeze the life. Both squeeze the shit I took a bike recently, but I like my scars. I sit on the crest of the wave but the mirror every morning whispers "Memento mori ...".
That's your enemy, the son of a bitch. A part of him.
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