Holding my breath

Mom’s hospice nurse has checked in with us on a regular basis during this quarantine. We have also been receiving weekly updates from her community. And then. A few days ago. They announced that we would be allowed to schedule a visit. Outside. Behind an iron fence. With masks. No hugs or touch.

I am shaken. It has been over 10 weeks since I last saw her. She continues to decline. Having two weeks pass between visits was challenging before. Such a noticeable decline. So now. Even longer. Even more time has passed.

Staff and nurses have been most kind in their descriptions. There have not been pictures shared in months. They stick to her physicality. Sores on her hands. The basics. We have already navigated her lack of communication. No one speaks of that any more.

I don’t know what to expect. I am so very sad imagining her confusion in wearing a mask. In not being able to touch me. Look into my eyes to find stability and love. I’m not sure if she is able to see me from that distance. Unsure if she knows who I am. Unsure of so much.

We are scheduled to see her on Monday. After breakfast so she is not rushed. Hopefully the sun will be out. But it will be cool.

We finalized the meeting this morning. I find my breath becomes shallow and rapid when I consider what this will be. Look. Feel. I am scared.

I may hold my breath a bit until I see her. And then I imagine I will work very hard to not break down in her presence. I will hold steady.

(I hope)

And we will bring her a chocolate milkshake. To be wiped down and sterilized. But this is what we can do.

May she feel the sun on her face. May she hear the spring chatter of birds. May she taste the sweetness of life. May she see the love in my eyes.

(May I find a place of peace to exhale after)

(Photo of me and mom November 6, 2019)

Note for Quarantine 2020: Life is different and yet we are still trying to hold onto our version of normal. While navigating this experience, I have set my writing on the back burner so that I can do what I need to do. I am exercising, cooking more, experimenting with new recipes and ingredients, taking care of the house and family members and fosters when we have them and talking whenever and wherever my people choose. Family dinners have become a beautiful nightly ritual and are full of intense discussion, revelations and laughter. May all of you find your normal and let go of antiquated measurements of your success. Waking up every day and getting through each day. These are the new barometers of success.