I couldn't do it. I was too weak. I was a limp noodle. Then I happened to notice my back yard. There was no escaping the fact that the grass was dying, and the sucker trees were taking over. My yard used to be a showpiece, my pride and joy, my way of paying tribute to my son, Jacob each year, but I'd been unable to take care of it in the couple of years. 

I stood up and slithered back down again, my body was confusing itself by shaking like a bowl full of jelly and turning into a limp noodle.  I started to cry.  SonOne came over and asked me what was wrong.

Me:  Lookitmyyard, it's dying, I can't takecareofanymore.   Blubber blubber, sob sob, choke choke, drama drama. 

He sat down next to me, and put his arm over my shoulder, clumsy in the way grown sons who aren't used to seeing their mother fall apart on the roof.  I finally let go and cried and cried about having MS, and tried to talk about all the things I couldn't do anymore.  Choking with sobs, and run-on sentences in my mouth.  In between sobs, I'd kicked at the rain-catcher thing in anger, and he made it worse by finally kicking it off with one kick. 

Me:  Look at the sucker trees, they're getting huge, I can't pull them out anymore.  It used to be so pretty and perfect.  Sniff sniff, choke choke, sob sob. 

Me:  He:  Just do the little ones then.

Me:  But the big ones need out tooooo, wail wail, sob sob, kick kick, melt melt, sniff sniff. 

He:  Mom, just do the little things, and I'll do the big things.

Oh. What a concept.  I was so used to doing everything on my own.  Of course he could help, and did help, and had been helping, but since my brain and the rest of my body seemed to be pouring itself into little desert cups to be made into jello, my sudden grief and denial broke wide open, and had me convinced I was on my way to the place where they put useless people, wherever that is, which not knowing where made it all that more horrible.   

I looked at him, and he was trying to hide tears.  He knew more than anyone else how his strong, independent, single mom had always did EVERYTHING around the house.  And he was seeing the worse I'd ever been, right there on the roof, and it seemed to dawn on both of us that this MS was no joke, it was damn serious and wanted to be noticed and taken care of and respected for the superior adversary it was, and the sooner I admitted that it had taken me prisoner, the better. 

It was the first time he and I had actually talked back and forth about the MS.  Before, it had always been me telling him things about it, and him going "hmm".

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