January wasn't no jamboree.

My dear friends and all strangers passing through,

What a calamity that hit me this soon-soon year, January Twenty-twenty-t'ree.

Mama been in hospital...not one time. Two times. I decide to stay with she during them scary nights. She woulda freak out all by sheself in the strange room, drug-up and disoriented.

Both times, she had room with a view. Wide sky with birds, and sunshine spilling into the room like glory on a Sunday. I trick meself into thinking, yeeeaaah, we in a hotel and is a li'l holiday. 

Reality does have a way of grabble-ing you by the heart though. 

One morning, before the sun rise, I dozing and dreaming in the lounge chair, snuggle-down with me red, fleecy blanket, two white hospital blankets and a pillow that feel like warm white bread. The Filipino nurse come in with a fleabottomist. 

"Good morning," I say.

"She is from your country," the Fillipino nurse introduce the fleabottomist.

Ms. Fleabottomist barely throw a dour look over she shoulder, mutter something that I presume was hello, and she get to work whilst I snooze off again.

Suddenly, into me dream-state, fly the voice of Ma, calling out me name, two, three times, in abject terror. I rush to she side and stroke she forehead as the fleabottomist puncture she vein. Ma, she eyes closed like she is away in pain-land, ask in a thick and sluggish, drug-soak voice, "Where am I? What is happening? Why is this happening to me?"

I ain't gon lie, sorrow tug at me like it got great iron hooks. 

That, me dear, was why I did choose to stay in the hospital, so I could soothe she, and help she land gently back to comfort and safety. 

She useta be a tough dame y'know, but now, cancer and stress bring she to a frail state.

Me and she make friends with them health care workers from Haiti, the Philippines and one African-American nurse. If I had a home of me own, I woulda invite them to eat and gyaff...chat...and we would share immigrant stories.

Me sister and brother-in-law arrive the Saturday they release Ma, and we gyaff-up...chat...good and hearty with the East Indian Jamaican nurse. Even in distress, you can still find people who help you rejoice. eh?

I got pictures to share soon.

Take care of you, eat nice things, wear nice clothes, sing and dance, that really help.

And blogger-friends, see you on your blogs soon.

Plenty love, neena.