Yesterday I sat with my mother for an entire half hour. At one point I fed her some apple sauce the recreational directors brought into the day room. I have not been able to sit with her for that long since she lost the ability to walk this summer.
Yesterday she knew who I was. This was obvious to all who observed us; it was what we call one of her 'good' days. And thus upon seeing me, she smiled and reached and wept tears of joy.
My tears were different, made of the longing opened by her recognizing me. I was not complete in looking at her and holding hands. I wanted the woman I miss to come back.
But my mother is a Buddha now. She lives entirely in the moment, and lives each one so completely that the previous one is erased entirely. She can do this because her brain has been damaged by disease. Still, I can learn from her journey.
Sitting there with her, holding hands and gaze, I thought: I get to be here, I get to live this kind of love, I get to live this unbelievably painful, beautiful, grounding and elevating string of moments with a woman who no longer knows anything but how to love.
Later when I left, I was secure that within moments of my leaving, whatever distress that moment may have caused her, she would forget I was ever there. Until next time.
I do not forget. And in case I do, I tell you.
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Thanks for giving me the heads up on your blog, Valerie. I really enjoy your musings. "My Mother is a Buddha" is so incredibly sad. I know that, when you told me about your mother on the bus to Skidmore, I thought--and maybe I said to you--"Your mother is very lucky to have you for a daughter." Reading this, I thought it again. You really are a blessing, Valerie. How fortunate your mother is to have a daughter who can see the beauty in everything. The part about her recognition opening up that yearning and loss in you reaffirms the adage, "Be careful what you wish for; you might get it." Now that she's recongized you, was it easier when she didn't? My heart goes out to you.
ReplyDeleteThank you for your heart, Gillian.
ReplyDeleteWhen people ask me, 'Does your mother still know who you are?' I answer, 'What mother really knows who her daughter is?'
The women identified as daughters laugh, the women identified as mothers shake their heads.
My mother's ins and outs help teach me to accept each moment as it comes. Expectations are a bitch!