Thoughtfulness
Friday, March 13th. Until 12:30pm. Was the last time I was able to visit with my mom. Hold her hand. Look into her eyes. And see recognition. Know. In my bones. That she knew. Felt. Her connection to me.
While my mom has become more quiet. More withdrawn. Has drifted further away from us. Closer to death. Closer to being with my father. Closer to next.
Still. We could see her smile when we walked into the room. At some point. During our visits. She would look into my eyes and I could still see something. Felt that somewhere. She knew. She is my mom. I am her daughter.
This was the beginning of the Pandemic panic. The new approach and comprehension that quarantine would be real. Or so we thought. For two weeks.
The day before. I told Macy that I would be driving to Boston to pick her up. Move her out of her freshman dorm room. Bring an end to her joyous fabulous daily existence. Relocate her to her childhood home. A place for past growth. But not current desires needs hopes dreams.
Our Governor announced that the next day would be the last for visiting senior care facilities. That I had a few hours that morning. To trim mom’s fingernails. To sit with her and talk and explain how best I could that we would not be able to see each other for a bit. To watch her enjoy a chocolate milkshake.
J.P. offered to make the drive to Boston. To collect and pack and nourish and nurture Macy for her unwanted unexpected return home.
So I could have this time with my mom. Tell her I love her. And she quietly whispered. I love you too
(I cannot type that without tears beginning to stream down my face. For it truly was felt now I know the last time she knew. She’s my mom. It was the last time she told me she loved me)
We have been able to visit her recently with new conditions face masks distance.
But. We have come to realize. She no longer knows who we are. Zero recognition. No affect.
She reaches hungrily for her milkshake.
She will smile when she sees a familiar staff person lifeline caretaker.
Her nails are long. She has sores on her fingers and has lost some nails. Antibiotics have been applied.
She is permanently in a wheelchair.
She has lost weight.
Her hospice nurse checks in with me weekly.
She turns towards sounds. Light. The sky. A car door closing. Birds.
She turns away. From us.
She no longer knows us.
(The timing has been a perfect storm. We were losing her when this began. But not having regular contact. No steady reminder of our presence. No physical touch. Her slide fall crash into the abyss. Seems more extreme with the passing of time. More jarring to face. Absorb. Like layers of pain collecting. And also. A reality check. That so much death and violence and systemic racism. How can does this pain possibly find a place. Where does it fit into the hierarchy of historical proportions. It doesn’t. So what. Do. I do. Bury it deep inside. Because. Truly. In the context of all that is happening struggling overwhelming. How can the loss of my mom compare. How can I possibly ever. Appropriately. Am I permitted this pain. Even in pieces if not in its entirety. I struggle to contextualize this within the real world context of so much. It feels unfair unfit un something everything. How do we mourn the most basic sadness loss. When we are surrounded. Swallowed whole)
This past week. As I was driving to get groceries. It suddenly dawned on me. That once again. In everything that is good in my life. J.P. gifted me. With the last moments hours of being with my mom. When she was still (somehow in pieces) my mom.
Like so many of us. I have been trying to move forward make progress find happiness peace joy. In this new way of being. Sometimes. That translates into blocking out ignoring stifling. The true valid sincere pain loss.
(And for other things. Those that do not matter. Are no longer a consideration. Cannot be part of my struggle or concern. Have dropped completely and forever off the list of any possible worries I might partake engage. For some of these things. I have become bitter. That they have taken up so much of my time. Emotionally draining. Useless. No possibility of a solution resolution. Some people will never be happy. To choose to curate cultivate generate a bitter hatred anger. To hold onto clutch tight grasp. Destiny. Entitlement. To what riches resources are some belonging and not others)
How can we not see acknowledge fight protest an abundance of wrongness in our world. Our communities. How can we look to each other to fight disagree target destroy.
When we need to come together. In all of our abilities capacities resources.
To focus.
Yield the floor.
To the most primary primordial essential calling.
Anti-racism
(anti oppression fascism misogyny people humans)
And I am reminded. Why. I can only take moments to mourn. The loss of my mother.
She would understand. Choose. Elect. To feed nourish educate protest. To follow. Pursue. Heed. Our most basic instinct.
To answer the call…
“Mom”
(With his last breath. The only call to action ever needed. To change the world)