I look into the mind of the dementia and feel at a loss.
There is someone who is my friend, my mentor, my mother
A woman who bequeathed me her mind, her soul, and her love
She provided me with a breath of life and gave unconditionally as I lived my own
As she watched us grow, she grew as well.
The memories crowd in as fast as my mind can release the flashbacks.
I am scared I will forget them. I am scared she will forget them as I remember them.
Watching me get my driver's license,
Tall ships with Rosenbergers..giving me the $100 from her savings.
Peanut butter on a buttery cracker, placed on a paperplate for backyard picnics.
Holding my hand as I sit at Grandma's funeral, knowing that this woman that holds my hand is the connection between my birth and my death.
Her tears fall as her vision leaves ever so slightly, enough to make her feel lost and unsure.
What can I do she says, and who can I help this way.
It is easier to sit alone, watching the game channel, and to feel the darkness surround me then it is reach through the light and find what is good and left for me to do.
She does not negate what she feels for her children or her husband.
She negates her place with them.
This woman who brought God's love to my heart, and asked me to walk down the aisle
In a church she adopted, is the same woman who is forgetting that God has brought her into this life for a purpose and will not let her leave until that purpose is found.
Always known for her independent spirit, she thrived on her self-initiative, and her travels. She was beloved, and was loved. She was self-driven, and undecided. She was caustic and she was butter in her voice.
My throat tightens as I look toward her face. My grandfather looks back at me.
My eyes gather tears as I look toward her eyes. They are the eyes I see when I need assurance that another day will come and they will be there to talk to, reminisce with, and love.
She wonders if she did something to cause this turn in her life. Did she smoke too much, causing my sister's unfortune, or did she and my father not show enough love not to encourage us having children of our own.
She calls me, says hello…..never forgetting to say she loves me.
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Oh, Lisa, I so get this and I'm so glad you are blogging. What a fine writer you are! I write often about my mother and it just helps. Do you know about the IU Brain Center? While they may have no help for your mother, it might be worthy of an eval for her for you. We did it last year. Very good info.
ReplyDeletePeace, Lisa, I'm glad she has you for this very painful journey.
A2
Lisa, You are indeed a wonderful writer! I have found that writing has offered me an avenue to lay before me and others the emotions that just need to come out. ahhh, I say.
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