Happy Mother's Day

"What's your pleasure, oh Joy of my Life?" I asked mom this question about half an hour ago and she couldn't think of anything she'd rather do than come home for a nap.  Earlier today we went to Starbucks (for the first time in a coon's age) and then went to see the movie Water for Elephants.  It was a good outing, but by the time we got home I could tell that she was flagging. Now she is resting in the living room while I'm sitting here typing this entry. Mother's day has always been one of my favorite holidays. The flowers above came for her yesterday from my brother and his wife. Aren't they gorgeous? :) 

I want to share two of my favorite gifts I've given her in the past with you. One of them is a poem I wrote for her when I was 19, just after our lives had fallen apart and we were beginning to struggle through picking up the pieces and building a new relationship with each other:

Mother's Day 1989

Sometimes it seems as though it's difficult for me

To express my feelings for you;

Words don't seem enough.

So I listen to my heart and paint a picture:

When I'm alone in the dark

Alone and frightened

It is your hand that reaches out to comfort me;

When I am lost and confused and I can't find my way

It is your voice that rings out clearly to lead me home;

When my heart is breaking and everything is wrong

It is your eyes that glisten in an echo of my own tears;

When it seems as though the entire world is sick of me and wants me to crawl away

I know that I can come to you

And with you, I need no one else

Because I know that you will always care.

And when they praise me for a job well done

I know your heart is bursting with joy to share my happiness

When I'm unsure of myself and afraid to try

You are always there, and the simple beating of your heart

Gives me courage.

I know that I can accomplish anything my heart desires

And go anywhere my dreams want to lead me

And be successful there

Because even when I don't know, you do

And you have faith enough for the both of us.

"I love you" seems so cliche, it's hardly worth saying

But you are so much a part of me, and so important in my life

You will live in my heart forever: I know you will always be with me

I praise God every day I live that he allowed me to be your child

Because no one else could have done me any better, not ever

And I will always be here for you, whenever you need me

Because I love you, Mom.

It's as true today as it was then.

The other gift I want to share with you is a locket I purchased for her in the mid 1990's. In it I placed the high school graduation pictures of myself, my mom, and my grandma, along with the legend, "Mother's Love is Eternal."

Happy Mother's Day to all of you from both of us.

Taking Care of Business

Every time someone you know loses someone they love, they say to make sure you tell those you love you love them every day, to live every day like it's your last. Mom and I have been in the habit of telling each other we love each other so regularly for so long that I can't remember when it started, although I suspect it was shortly after I graduated high school and left home (which at that point made expressing our feelings much easier). In fact, we say "I love you" to each other so often it would probably get on someone else's nerves if they had to be around us for very long. Sometimes I ask mom, "Are you sick of hearing me say that?" and she'll say "of course not!" and we'll laugh. When I was little we even went through a period where we had a code for it: squeezing the other's hand 3 times, for I. Love.You.

It's weird I know (even to me, sometimes) but I can honestly say I think that mom and I have no unfinished business. One of the questions the social worker for the hospice asks is about what unfinished business mom has in her relationships and what she would like to see happen. Mom couldn't think of anything to say. Everyone she loves knows she loves them. She has no unfinished arguments or issues with anyone (except for maybe my dad, and he's beyond finishing anything). She and I long ago passed into a habit of peaceful co-existence that seldom sees a disagreement and all of those are misumderstandings which rise more out of exhaustion than anything else and are quickly cleared up. We understand each other. How many people can actually say that?

I've been extraordinarily blessed in my life to have not one, but four people with whom I share this kind of relationship. People with whom it is not necessary for me to speak unless I feel like it, with whom companionable silence serves us just as well as the raucous belly laugh or the heartfelt conversation (or hug). I'm not sure why I've been so blessed. But I cherish my mom and I'm happy and honored to be sharing this last era of her life with her. I'm glad we have the good relationship we have. It's hard but doable. I can't imagine how on earth we would be able to function, dealing with our day-to-day challenges, if we didn't have each other's understanding. And love.

It Could Always Be Worse

I find it extraordinarily difficult to write on bad days. By bad days, I don't mean days that go badly, necessarily, but just mom's bad days. She has a lot of them. For the past several days her mental status has been dropping severely in the evenings. Tonight we came home around 4:30 from eating out - a rare treat and something we did today to celebrate my father's probate finally being closed. She immediately locked on to the idea of looking for some books that have been on her mind lately. They are children's books that she has remembered owning for some reason, and they are nowhere to be found in the upper part of the house. Although she knows (or knew before) that she cannot reach the basement on her oxygen, she asked about going down cellar to look for the books. I told her that wouldn't work since her oxygen won't reach and the work would prove too strenuous for her. "Well shit," she said. (A completely uncharacteristic response). She was mad at me. I asked her calmly not to be angry and reminded her that I don't set her rules, but that I only try my best to remind her what's best for her. She shrugged it off. I watched her for a while, exhibiting more confused behavior (messing nervously with her journal, worrying over what day it was) and finally she said (or meant to say - it got a little mixed up coming out) that she couldn't think as well as a three year-old. I told her things aren't quite that bad and reminded her that they could always get worse. I suggested that she consider going to bed early, and she agreed it was a good idea. I gave her her meds, helped her get dressed, ushered her to the bathroom to take care of her teeth and toilet, then tucked her in bed. About an hour later she got up, telling me she'd had a bad dream and needed to check to make sure the stove was off. I assured her and reassured her that it was off and everything was fine. Half an hour later, I came by her room on the way to mine and she asked me if I had just said "Daddy." I had been talking to the dog, so I told her she must have heard me say "Paddy." She said "Oh, that's better." You bet your ass mom, I thought but didn't say.

The truth is that I dream of taking some time off. I have been told that I shouldn't feel bad about this, that time off is a normal desire for a primary caretaker and even necessary for one's sanity. The trouble I have with this is that it links clearly in my mind to resentment of having to take care of her. I don't care how normal it is to resent being in my position, I don't WANT to resent my mom. But I do at times, and it always breaks my heart. I'm working on taking it easier on myself but it's damned hard. Anyway . . . the hospice (with Medicare's blessing) allows for five days per year of off time, 24 hour days. If I elect to take this time off, Mom would be moved into one of their homes for the few days when I use them. I have recognized the need in me to take a break ever since she came home from the hospital in January and got admitted to hospice, but I can't seem to make myself do it. Yet. It isn't really like, but it feels like I would be condemning her to a jail of boredom for the time I would be gone. It's rough on her mental status, and things happen to her when she's in residential care that scare her. I'm only just now beginning to get the full story on some of the hallucinations she had while she was in rehab. Sigh.

I used to take mental breaks on a regular basis, where I would find somewhere to disappear to and no one in the world would know where I was. I would call mom and let her know I'd arrived okay, and then leave her a number for emergencies only. Then I would take 2 - 3 days to myself. It was grand and mysterious and relaxing. And quiet. I am learning to revere the quiet. I get a few minutes or so of quiet to myself throughout the day and it's where I find the scraps of my sanity and begin to mend them back together. Until I can screw up my courage for a real break, it will have to do.