When I looked down, I asked if this was because of the medical marijuana
I hated to admit to myself, let alone anyone else, but I was ashamed of my mother for using marijuana. All my life I had grown up listening to my mom tell us drugs aren’t good for you. She told us that marijuana could alter your mood and make you crazy. She talked about her brother and how he would get mean and start thinking everyone was against him. When I found out my mom was using medical marijuana for her arthritis, I was angry. She was a hypocrite for pushing the idea of how bad it was for us, but it was okay for her to use marijuana. I thought she should learn to deal with her pain and not use anything other than aspirin or acetaminophen. I didn’t care that it was causing bleeding ulcers or making her sick. It was over-the-counter, and it wouldn’t make her high. I avoided my mom for several months, but she was at the family gathering last month. It was the first time I had seen without her walker or wheelchair. She was laughing at something one of my brother’s sons had said, and she bent down to give him a hug. She wasn’t glassy eyed or acting overly anxious, or laughing too much. She was the mom I remembered her being when I was a kid. I walked up to her and gave her a hug. She cried and asked if I was still angry with her. When I looked down, I asked if this was because of the medical marijuana. She said she couldn’t walk without it. She still had a cane, but she was walking and with the family again. I was ashamed of myself for thinking the worst about my mom.