I was sick last week, but it lacked the grace of my mother's "poor health." I did not want to see anyone. I wanted to be left alone to endure my misery in private agony. And I felt mildly guilty about missing choir practice and church. It is taking longer to recover from the illness that seems reasonable, too. I feel fine, but my endurance and stamina is compromised, and I feel embarrassed by the weakness.
My mother's somewhat lengthly final illness was painful and insulting, and nobody enjoyed it. It's ironic to have these mixed and confusing images of health and sickness circling in my mind. I try to cling to the humorous one in regard to her and her life. I want to remember her in scenes of joy. "Enjoying poor health" has advantages.