Going Away

I'm leaving for vacation tomorrow. I'll be away for about ten days, which feels like a lifetime in my anticipation. Once we go, it will be over in what feels like the space of a minute. Mom will be on her own, and she says she's looking forward to it. Even though she's staying home, it's like a vacation for her as well. Different people will be stopping by without the filter of Rosemary. She'll have the house to herself. She'll eat some of her favorite foods, like canned hash with an egg on top. I haven't made that lately:) When she sits in her small high back chair, I can hardly see her behind the tray that holds the small mountain of books she plans to read. Going away provides us with new experiences to share when we get back together. It will be like old times. I'll burst in the door when we arrive home, anxious to tell her all about our time in the city and at the beach, and she'll fill me in on all the news around home. Funny how going away is exciting but coming back home is the best of all.

Cages

Trapped.
There are worse cages then those that surround the body. The steel-trapped mind is one in which thought after thought runs up against a brick wall, negative sentences repeat, and answers loom as far away as the darkest reaches of the universe. How can we sever that electrical current that has a life of it's own --the one that has taken over our thought process and dragged our heart into the picture? The one that says, "Poor me. Life is so sad. No one understands me." I find that the only way to disconnect from this destructive thinking is to face the truth. "Yes, no one understands me--but for that matter, no one understands anyone, really." We all live in our unique, individual, and separate reality. The way to break out of this negative pattern is to reach out to others, not for understanding, but to connect. I find that anytime I ask someone, genuinely, "How are you?" and pause to really listen, I have severed that negative thought pattern by taking a new route. Anytime, I smile deeply into someone's eyes and receive a smile in return, I feel joy. And anytime, I grant a simple wish, or perform a small act of kindness, my mind calms down, and for a minute, I feel uplifted by connection. It's taken a long time, but waiting for others to "cheer me up" is not the answer. Pacing the floors of the cage only leads to more pacing. Opening the doors of the cage is up to me.

Simplicity

Yesterday, as I sat on the beach, I remembered our family trips to the ocean when dad brought along the habachi. It was a tiny grill that somehow cooked enough food for eight people. Just remembering that grill made me smile. I recently saw a man tug an enormous gas grill on wheels that would not turn in the sand, onto the beach. His state-of-the-art contraption came complete with hanging utensils and a kitchen cabinet built in underneath! There were three whole people in his family to feed, and the baby was an infant--hardly able to down a juicy burger with the works. Oddly, this train of thought led to my mother and how simple her life has become. She has emptied and moved out of her large home on Long Island. She has given away most of her possessions. Somehow, as she gives things away, she becomes more full herself. Last weekend, she gave the Healey family nativity-the one she and my father received as a wedding gift- to my sister who is graduating with her Master's degree in Pastoral Care. This gift had special meaning. It was given in recognition of a journey about to begin --a birth. My mother nurtured this gift for over fifty years, and now she can rest assured that each Nativity piece will bring a new sense of renewal and joy to her own daughter as she begins a new path. I'm deeply grateful that my mother has had the opportunity to simplify her life on her own terms, by giving away beloved treasures to the people she loves more than life itself.

A wonderful resource

I have been remiss. After three weeks without a break, I spent two days in the outer banks of NC with my husband and feel like a new person. My mother also had a great time with my sister while I was gone. Getting away, even for a day, is very rejuvenating. I also discovered a website that has tons of great information and soothing tips.

http://www.caregiverrelief.com/biography.html

Recently, I had lunch with a friend who is making frequent trips to see her mother who has Lou Gehrig's disease. After talking about her visits and heartaches, she apologized then sent an apology email to me that said, "Thank you for putting up with my whining."

I told her not to worry--she's the only kind of friend I have time for anymore. No more talk of weather, outfits, and gossip--I want good real conversation, complete with raw emotions and honest opinions. A dear friend of mine told me years ago after losing her mother that she did not want friends that called her up to talk about other friends. She would only make time for people with meaningful lives, people that cared about other people and wanted to make life better for those they loved- she had no time for petty grievances. She made a lasting impact on me.

Here's to real friends, raw honesty, and listening to each other with good intentions.

A Pain in the Neck

I've been writing less because sitting at the computer hurts my neck. It's gotten so bad that the pain runs down my arm. I'm cranky and irritable and I complain to my mother about it. "My neck's killing me! This is awful. I hate this!" I whine several times a day. And my mother--being the mother she always is, listens and understands. It occurred to me today that I'm whining to a woman who has lost the ability to do just about everything. She can't walk from here to there without struggling for breath. She sits patiently, smiling, so she's "not a burden" to me. Her legs are long sticks of black and blue from the prednisone she takes daily. Her shoulders ache from tension. She leaves things left undone...because she can't do them, the sheets weren't changed this week, her desk needs dusting, and she doesn't even bring them up, because she doesn't want me to "work too hard." Mom rarely complains, and when she does, it is always followed by a lilting laugh and the phrase, "Oh but it's just the way it is. I'll be fine."

I found the gift of my pain in the neck this week--it's compassion. I appreciate more acutely what my mother endures minute to minute and admire her stature and composure. She makes me try harder to be a better person. My neck's killing me right now but I'm not going to announce it to the world (At least I'll try). Thanks again, Mom, you never stop teaching.

The view from above

My mother's peaceful presence offers the only truth we need in life - seek out happiness moment to moment instead of focusing on what is lost, needed, lacking, or not good enough. Blame and bitterness is replaced with pardon and prayer. Material desire is replaced with satisfaction for what one has now: a warm blanket, a hot cup of tea, a faithful companion, and a window that looks out on the birds from far off places singing sweet songs. They flutter and feed then fly away on wings that soar to the heavens. Aloft, they must see how small we become as they hover high overhead, alone, but safe from harm.

Reunions

I find I attend many reunions lately. They aren't exactly barbecues or picnics and don't require any preparation, travel, or fuss. They are reunions of the mind, heart, and spirit. My mother lives with me, but at the same time, she resides in a place of retrospection, often relating any news story of today to a story in her past, exposing the threads of time that bind us in our experiences. These threads are her oral history and her gift. I need only gather them in the moment and understand that they are passed along for safe-keeping, and meant to be shared when the time is right. Our memories are medicine. They morph over time. Like a potent elixir, the right memory applied to a particular ill can soothe better than any painkiller or amnesiac. It's not always in forgetting that we are calmed, but in remembering that first kiss, newborn baby, or view from a mountaintop. I'm collecting her moments, so I can conjure them up when she'll need them most, and so I can smile along with her, when we both might rather weep.