71

My mother is 71 years old today. I’m happy for her. She looks great in her new black skinny jeans and boots. She is about to be whisked away to a party where there will be drink and drugs galore. I’m grateful that I’m not going to be there. I’ve said happy birthday and given her a hug. The people who are there aren’t really her friends. If they were they wouldn’t be encouraging an elderly alcoholic to drink. They’re doing their best to finish her off. I see this. Anyone with any sense sees this. As long as she’s happy I guess that’s what counts. I’ll look after her for the next few days when she cannot get down the stairs and needs her bucket changing. When she needs food but refuses to eat. I’ll look after her as best I can. I love her. She’s my mum.

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