"I wAnTeD tO cRaCK aN Egg iN tO iT"

Unconditional Love

After last speaking to Mum a few days ago, and finding her to be in good, coherent spirits, I decided not to waste the opportunity of clarity and rang her again last night.
From the first word that came flying out of her mouth I could tell I was a little bit too late, but persisted as long as I could (1 minute 35 seconds) before hanging up on her making a blood curdling and psychotic squeal down the receiver at me.
There were a few triggers that I could pin point from the jibber-jabber that she tried desperately to piece together for me and then when I had time to digest them I felt a little bit bad for Mum and guilty that I had resorted in hanging up on her. I know that our departure overseas to NZ has been really hard on her, and every phone call from me is now sacred.
I decided to ring her back, this time more prepared, ready for the onslaught of random thoughts and questions, ready to passively sift through the shit and rambling...
One thing she told me that made the second phone call so worth while is a tale of sheer manic brilliance. And this is why Daniel and I will always love her unconditionally.
Mum's present situation is one notch up from homeless. Living in a half way home with other chemically imbalanced and lost souls that are struggling to bridge the gap between being institutionalised and functioning independently on their own. It is a house, with a pool, in a reasonable area. One hospital staff member from the local psych ward are posted there throughout every 24 hr period - mostly as a mediator from what I have heard. Every house member contributes to cooking once a week and has set chores for keeping the place managed.
Mum asked me what I was having for dinner - I told her.
I, in return, asked her the same...
Mum told me that they had already had it. It was mince. And bacon. And that she got in to trouble because she wanted to "crack an egg in to it". And as it was someone elses' night to cook, Mum's input on the additional ingredient was not sought and probably met with some hostility I imagine. According to the rest of Mum's story, she settled with just boiling a couple of eggs for herself anyway in defiance, manically manoeuvring around the already occupied kitchen wheeling pots and boiling water. Later Mum decided to make good with the rostered chef and made up and were now friends again, however she still felt strongly about her recommendation of egg in the mixture and wasn't the least impressed with the half-arsed meal.
How could you not smile at this. I went to bed happy.