Well, I must admit…it
has been several months since I’ve been able to open a piece of blank paper and
start typing. I always find it easier to write when I’m overwhelmed with
emotion, to somehow translate every tear into a word. Lately though, I find it challenging.
There is no combination of those 26 letters of the alphabet that can convey how
I feel. My head is communicating in one language, and my heart another. They
are scrapping like two siblings over the last piece of birthday cake, and after
the tug-of-war, there is nothing left but a muddle of crumbs on the floor.
Mom’s 90th
birthday has come and gone. As I sit beside her, I pay close attention to the
body parts of a lady I have treasured my entire life. Her beautiful, white hair
has gotten so long that it twists up on the ends. I don’t want to tell her how
long it’s gotten, because if she were aware, it would embarrass her. I try to pull it back in a headband to keep it
out of her eyes, but she keeps scratching her head as a signal for me to take
it off. Her eyes, the windows to her
soul, are either gazing off to a place I’ll never know, or closed in slumber.
There is no sparkle, no enthusiasm, and no life. Her skin is paper-thin and
peeling. She is itchy, so every few minutes, I rub lotion all over her arms and
legs – I want to fix whatever I can, to make her feel better, more comfortable.
She is slumped in her recliner, not able to get up, or even reposition
herself - dead weight. She has lost
control of her bladder, and is attached to a catheter like a ball and chain. As
I look at the output in the collection bag at the end of the day, there is
barely any. She doesn’t drink much, and any food she eats is pureed and fed to
her. Her hands are the only slice of her
that I know anymore. They are still soft even after all those years of washing
dishes, laundry, hair, and children. I think of all the Christmas cookies she
has made in her lifetime, all the back rubs when I was sick, and the gentleness
of her now crooked fingers. I lay my open hand on her lap, and slowly, she
removes her hand from the warmth of the blanket, and places it in mine. She
still loves me. Even though she can’t say it, even though I don’t see it in her
eyes, even though she has no hugs left, she loves me.
Ninety years on this planet fading into the shell of my
mother. There is no time in her world – no today, tomorrow or yesterday. There
is only now, and even that doesn’t make sense any more. There are no choices
left for her to make – just breathe in and breathe out. Everything else will be
done by someone else. There will come a time when she will forget to breathe,
too. I’m sure, in her mind, that moment is long overdue. Or does she even think
about these things anymore. Who knows? I hate to see her like this. This is supposed
to be my mother, dammit! Not some 90 year old casing suffocating the matriarch
of our family like a boa constrictor.
My emotions are scattered, just like the loose tiles in a
Scrabble game. I can’t seem to create a solitary word to describe the feelings
I have, but I know they exist because I experience each one. I feel
hope – not the kind of hope that imagines she will get better, but the kind
that wants her to find a connection with something…pictures, music, babies, an
open hand…anything; I feel relief – I know she is in a good home and is being
well taken care of. I appreciate my local siblings that are close by to watch
after her and be the voice she lost; I feel resentment – I don’t understand why
some dear relatives will not visit her. I hear, “It’s hard to see someone like
that.” That is the most selfish comment I have ever heard, and I will never
understand it. I’m also irritated that people I see every single day don’t ask
me how she is…or how I am doing with my loss. You learn a lot about people when
you need them to be there, and they aren’t; I feel sad – so sad that my heart aches
some days. I will never have another conversation with my mother again – not
one more piece of advice, not one more “I love you”, not one more combination
of those 26 letters of the alphabet. The spirit of the woman I know and love so
much is gone, and only her body rests here on Earth. I will hold her hand in mine for as long as I
can, and when she can’t hold on any longer, I will hold her heart in mine…forever.
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