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Funny. Ironic also. More ironic than funny, I don't have that strong a stomach or that black a heart. Maybe funny comes from the laughter and the laughter from the uneasy, the nervous. She called, early in the mornng, asking for help.

She said she dreamt the whole thing.

And how we laugh at the lady in the commercial while she says "I've fallen and I can't get up". It's bizarre, to be the one stainding up while she slithers on the floor, asking for help. To not be the one on the floor, dry tears, pulling on hairs, screaming, trying to get up while she towers over you. What used to leave me on the floor was humillitaion. What keeps her on the floor is age. Age and well, feet can only take so many cramps.

In her dream she fell, magically, on the floor,. It was all very slow motion. It was all very balck and white. And waking up and realizing she was on the floor was too much for a 68 year old. For her. For the woman of unstoppable fury and uncountable beatings. For the woman who would drag me by the hair, step on me, home or street.
Now she needs me to get her off the floor. Power maybe? Just a slight hint of accomplishment. Grandeur, is it, in french? "No!" says a voice. "Asshole!" says another. So weak, there on the floor, hair a mess, gibberish over the usual strong loud voice.

She asks for forgiveness. For all she's worked, for all the hardships. What she deserves, she says, is not this. I get her up from the floor, unnerving action, as the sense of touch was never one of the usual activites while (un)raising me. On her bed now, she sighs of relief and fear.

Am I a jerk if the word karma comes to mind? Does she know what it means?