Rose called me Helicopter yesterday.
I cannot win.
If I give her space, I am avoiding and ignoring her.
If I stay in the same room, she is irritated on my sighing and noisiness.
I have been distracted and busy and frantic with my own tasks lately.
How can I possibly be a helicopter now?
I am not.
That’s my point parents.
They see what they feel. She feels crowded by me.
All those years of my being in charge and doing everything are haunting her.
There are ghosts here.
Seizure ghosts, struggle ghosts, pain ghosts and Helicopter Mom ghosts.
The past lingers. It steps on the heels of present. It shapes it.
I am no longer a helicopter mom,
but she still feels me hovering over her
long after I have landed…
or did I crash?