I’m still at home. In the evenings, exhausted, I get on comms with Bataav for a while. He tells me about what the corp has been up to. In the last week the alliance declared war on a group called Risen Angels over a bombing and other violent acts against an ally, Federal Robotics. As I understand it, the war has been mostly verbal sparring and not much else, although Bataav did relate what sounded like a rather exciting chase of a target Nightmare through hisec.

The war was retracted today, as Risen Angels itself seems to have broken down due to its CEO deciding to move in a different direction. This effectively ends hostilities between all the involved groups.

I feel like I’m waging a war of my own. Bataav is patient and listens to my frustrations. Then before I know it, he’s slipped the topic of conversation in a new direction and has me smiling and laughing. When I talk to him I can forget, just for a little while, why I’m here. I wish he was with me, and he keeps offering to come down. But I know he’s had a lot to take care of in the last few weeks because of the war and other than keeping me company there’d be nothing for him to do here, so I tell him to stay.

Mom’s condition is still quite poor. When Aranza sent her to the hospital she was near death. I’d like to believe the worst of it is over, as I was allowed to bring her home again. The doctors told me to get her outside more so today I asked if she might want to go for a walk in the forest. Although she didn’t resist, she obviously had no desire to go: she fell limp like a ragdoll while Aranza and I tried to get her into her chair.

I became angry. I hate her passive-aggressive indifference. When she’s like this I feel helpless; she’d already refused the meal I’d offered her earlier in the day, forcing me to liquefy it and feed it to her through the tube the doctors left attached. She’s perfectly capable of feeding herself, she just doesn’t, and that in turn makes her sick like this. There’s no reason she needs the hoverchair either; she could walk if she didn’t starve herself to the point of being too weak to lift her head.

I raged at her: Why doesn’t she care? Why is she trying to throw away her life? Of course I know that she’s been like this since the Serpentis attack but that’s not the point. She needs to voice her pain, her grief, all of it, to actually heal. If she would only talk to me…or if not me, then someone… But always she stays silent, staring at me for a while before turning her face away.

I put her in the chair and took her out anyway. At first I said nothing, simply pushed the chair along between the trees. It glides pretty effortlessly over the ground no matter what the terrain is, which is nice. That at least elicited a response from Mom: when she grabbed my arm I realized I’d been racing along. But I was angry and my pace matched the pounding in my head.

We’d gone quite a ways when I spotted a rksha in a clearing through the trees. She had two cubs with her. They were quite some distance, enough to not pose any danger, so I stopped and pointed the trio out to Mom, and we sat for a while to watch them. The rksha was nosing about eating melons from a vine while her cubs rolled about, tussling with one another and getting into all sorts of mischief. One cub landed in the splattered remains of a melon and shortly thereafter found itself sequestered by a large paw for a bath.

After a while, Mom touched my arm again, gently, and smiled a little. I took her home then, and later on she ate part of a sandwich.

Small victories.