Once upon a time there was a little girl. This little girl was like any other, only this little girl's father was a monster. This despicable waste of atoms engaged in all sorts of lovely activities - he knocked all the girl's teeth out, broke her ribs, and forced her to live in constant terror.
Today that little girl, grown into a woman, will head to that monster's dementia ward; she'll comfort him, clean him, tell him everything will be okay.
It's funny really, I don't believe in god or angels, but that said I'm forced to admit this - on a Sunday morning my mother seems rather like one of those angels sent from a heaven that I don't believe in.
2 comments:
I think I'd rip his nipples off.
I suppose we can't understand this kind of thing unless we've lived it. My mother was, I thought, unnaturally attached to her mother and did quite a bit of caring for her despite my grandmother being a seriously fucked up and more than slightly evil bitch - not just as she aged but for most of her life.
It's very hard to figure out - but she is a better person than I'll ever be.
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