My
mother can’t remember the little things.
She has a wandering mind; it’s been that way for some time now, moreover it’s exacerbated by her current illness; exacerbated ~ what an elegant word for
hurry. As of recent, the episodes of her
confusion are pronounced, with few signs of recovery. It’s a test of resolve to resist assigning home-grown-diagnosis of popular themes to her suffering such as Alzheimer’s or geriatric dementia; the sad affect of aging is apparent to even the
most casual observer; the doctor’s won’t throw me that bone. Communication in the family is strained; as
the Mommy of my past slowly, yet undeniably, fades into memory; what
remains is a pantomime of a previous self; a dissolving Kodak caricature left
in the sun far too long.
This
is not foreign to the human experience; I do not claim the affliction of some
curse by the God’s for my misspent youth. It is, in all truth, another of
life’s unrelenting, harsh but necessary, lessons concerning change. The fabric of my family is unraveling under
the stress of trying to wicker down to the truth of health care. Endless assurances of hoped for procedures
and processes that continue to be derailed or postponed for reasons that defy
desires, but are unavoidably the stuff of bureaucracies. The news of yet
another of many snags only serves to agitate an old woman who wants only to go
home; a seemingly cruel taunting response to a weak and simple request. Being the messenger of bad news to a frail
woman is by far the most humbling of experiences.
“Not
today mama, maybe they will tell us more tomorrow”
The
life I used to have last week; the one where I had routines and schedules for
things that I felt had to be accomplished in a particular order, has been
abandoned to its own devices. I’ll deal with that fallout when those balls hit
the floor. As for today, I’m in a
surreal world of uncertainty and alterations.
Phone calls, email, texting, and message mailboxes, all serve to keep us
connected to one another instantly; anchored into the pressing moment; yet that
magic also serves to cultivate misgivings wrought by conflicting uncertainties and
contradicting noise; those of opinions, perceptions, propositions and schemes all
chiding for attendance and resolution; all demanding immediate decisions based
on partial facts that impact on others taking turns at making choices and plans.
All
for naught, the delicate woman of whom I speak sits quietly with hands neatly
folded in her lap. Hunched in her wheel chair parked just near the threshold of
her room, she watches attentively as strangers walk by; in an
unfamiliar place, with uncertainty as her only constant companion; hoping
to catch the countenance of a familiarly, friendly face, she can readily recognizes.
I
am heartbroken, but shed no tears; they will deliver no solace. My sisters and mother expect me to be the
voice of reason; to provide resolve. I have this assigned mantle of leadership;
I did not fashion, nor ask for it; but I wear the family anointment with
resignation to the belief they need someone to believe in; to trust. So I
surrender to the need of it. I am human
in my limitations, something I never needed to have pointed out to me. Yet I am
taken once again by the hand and shown where I command nothing; where those I
cherish are subject to pain and suffering no matter how much I maneuver to
protect them from the worst of life’s storms.
Yes, I am sad today for the confusion, and the unavoidable truth of
relying on others to provide care where I am not.
Not one to wax faith or belief systems as the
ultimate comfort during trying times; I am yet reminded of one of my favorite
(as well as most often written), phrase in the Bible
“It came to pass”
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