78 years

Today is my mother's birthday. She probably doesn't remember. My father died in 2002. So did my mother. Her body still walks around, talks with others, eats, sleeps, pretends to read, pretends to know. Her mind however left on the last train out. She has become a child. The roles have reversed. The day before my father died, he told me to take care of her. I have done the best I can.
Watching my mother devolve has been very depressing. I have fought it. Depression was not going to take me. A revelation came to me but it wasn't free. I have lost some connections with certain family members. This is my life after all. I am sober now. I cannot reason with drunkenness either in myself or others. It is a sacrifice I'm willing to make.
I sent my mother roses for her birthday. I didn't talk to my brother. He's been drinking. I cannot reason with him. He lets my mother drink. Her meds say not to. She is clinically depressed. She is miserable. Today is her birthday.