Adulthood: who needs it?

When I was five years old, I wanted nothing more than to be grown up. A five-year-old doesn't realize that growing up means growing older and losing people you love.
Eleven years ago, my world fell apart when my Dad died. Now, I'm facing the same situation as many others: keeping an eye on an aging parent. Mama is 77. Last October, she broke her hip. Amazing how something like that can turn your world on its ear. Mike and I kept the house up and the finances managed while she did 21 days of rehab for it. Fourteen more days followed in December after she had a bout with delirium, cause unknown.
Several falls later, she ended up having a hip replacement. She had a terrifying episode of delirium while in the hospital, and it took her a couple of weeks to get "right" again. Twenty-one more days of rehab.
With my sister's move out of town, Mama is on her own again, and seems to be doing well. But that spectre I've managed to ignore for 11 years is getting harder to block out. I see its gray shadow every time Mama goes to the doctor or talks about a new ache or pain, as I rejoice with her that she is regaining her mobility.
I haven't wanted to write much these past few months. It's been too hard to talk about. But it's one of those parts of being grown up that I must deal with. I'm tired of bitter water for a while. Let me drink of the sweet.
Lord, I wish I were five again.