No expectations

These were the words J.P. shared as we walked in to visit with my mom. He stops by to check on her every few days. Today was my (ir)regularly scheduled time. As we sat in the car while I took some deep breaths, he told me that she looked different. That her skin had begun to cave in around the base of her neck. He did not tell me this fact after his last visit. He has learned to keep some things to himself until he senses it is the right time. I need some form of preparedness. Some warning before I see her. Some notification. But not enough time given to dwell on anything.

Just yesterday we visited the funeral home and discussed the arrangements that should occur after her death. My instincts intuition dream like state had catapulted me out of my sleep to insist that this had to be done. I often go about checking boxes of things I have not completed started finished or even considered, prior to my departures out of town away from home. I seem to have an incredible need to sort out through organize finalize attend any gaping needs or issues.

So I kind of thought it was just my inner compulsivity that stirred my call to the funeral home.

But then I saw her.

I was aghast agape lost. Hanging outside of my body. Suspended in the air of between. Catching her eyes. Willing myself to take the last few steps forward but not wanting to. It may have been a second or a minute or my own eternity. I did not want to move. I was caught off guard off kilter by the change in her physicality. I held my breath.

And then I stepped forward and kneeled beside her chair. She becomes increasingly more skeletal. More defined. Less curvy plush soft. Rigidity kicks in takes over. She feels more angular like a Picasso. Eyes haphazard. Staring at different focal points. Pieces out of joint.

I asked her if she has been thinking about dad.

(On our way down the hallway, one of the amazing staff stopped us to question a story my mother had shared. They had the residents in a circle and were asking each one about the most unusual Valentine’s gift they had ever received. I immediately knew what she was going to say. She said my mom started laughing and could not stop for the longest time. I thought it was actually a mother’s day gift and had recently shared the same story with J.P.

A shovel. My parents had purchased 9 acres of land and were saving money to build their dream home. I was 6 when they bought the property and 9 when the house was complete. We would visit the property every weekend. And eat cheese and crackers for lunch. Even in the rain… then we would sit in the car while my parents discussed debated fantasized about our future home and life. When the weather was anything but horrendous, we would hike the property and explore the creek and woods. I had a favorite tree I climbed that hung over the water. My parents, having not been raised in a rural setting, had somehow concluded that they needed shovels. To mark the location of the build. To define the driveway. To what I know not. Nor did I care or inquire.

But shovels were top of the list. My dad trekked to the local sears or perhaps Montgomery ward store. He purchased a brown handled shovel that was the perfect length for her height. For father’s day, my mother did the same and purchased a red handled shovel for my dad. I did not think a shovel a romantic or thoughtful gift.

In retrospect, gifting each other a tool to hold to use to mark define outline their future happiness, seems an extraordinary insightful act of love.)

I asked mom if she had been talking about the shovel. She smiled big and gave a chuckle. Understandably, in a memory care facility, when one responds that they received a gift of a shovel from their beloved spouse, it seems appropriate to fact check.

She raised her finger to my forehead and outlined something she saw. Perhaps the lines in my forehead. My quickly emerging wrinkles. Maybe she sees the same lines she once noticed in her mirror.

She told me she loved me as she lowered her hand.

I whispered in her ear: “thank you for being my mom”

(No expectations. Just love)