It struck me, and I was brought to tears. Heading out the door to get the newspaper, my
Mom was putting on her “space jacket.” Silvery
in colour, this cozy, warm coat is getting too big for her. You see, Mom is losing some height because of
osteoporosis. And she is losing some
cognitive ability because of dementia. I
have to remind her to wear a scarf and put on a hat under the hood, and wear
her gloves.
I don’t want her walking up the
driveway with one hand holding her hood closer to keep out the wind; the other
hand in her pocket to keep it warm. I
tell her she walks like a penguin. I show her exactly how she looks. And oh my, does she laugh! “Yes, I guess it does look a bit silly,” she
says.
And it struck me that she had been
the one to watch out for me, when I was a child. “Put on your warm socks, inside those winter
boots. Make sure you tie up your hood. And for heaven’s sake, stop pouting long
enough for me to zipper up your jacket!”
It’s a kind of forgetting that can
take you by surprise; like not remembering that you painted an oil painting of
the ocean; waves crashing and clouds rolling; or asking the same question five
times in as many minutes. Or waiting for a response but the question had not
been “heard.” So while it looks like you
did not hear anything, (so it could be the hearing aid battery is dead), it’s
actually that your mind was elsewhere.
I find myself refilling the pill
container each week and wonder…will she begin to need more of these? Can we maintain health and strength for the coming
days, weeks, months, years? A life lived
somewhere between here-and-now and yesterday; filled with a thousand
considerations. And I, I can too easily
foster dependency with my desire to help; but am not always patient enough to
wait for her to catch up; to catch on. The need to translate a dialogue or
filter out far-too-complicated scenarios can leave me frustrated, and yet I am
greeted with such a thank you in her
smile and recognition in her response, that I am left with no other choice but
to walk with her through the maze and be grateful for the ability to simplify.
We have met people in the grocery
store or a clothing shop who have shown such sweet compassion and generous love
to Mom that they have left me in tears. They were neither condescending nor
superficial. Realizing that not every
one can handle the confusions of someone whose mind is elsewhere, if only for a
moment, I am still appalled at those who watch in mockery and derision and I want
to scream at them: “You don’t know her!”
It is achingly painful.
Every day is filled with
opportunities to embrace my Mom with value and dignity and genuine love. And every day, My God desires to draw me close
in prayer and give me courage and strength. When I have been hurt or have hurt
someone else, my God reminds me that I, too, can ask the same question five
times in as many minutes: how can someone hurt me so; or how could someone
misrepresent me in that way or when, oh when, will the heartache of my own broken
promises be settled. I am ever so
grateful that He does not grow weary with me.
It matters not, really, where we are living or what is the nature of our
work. It matters that we serve the
living God. When the apostle Paul concludes his
treatise on the heart of the gospel- Jesus’ death, burial and resurrection, he
states:
“Therefore, my beloved brethren, be
steadfast, immovable,
always abounding in the work of the Lord,
knowing that
your toil is not in vain in the Lord.
(1 Corinthians 15:58)
It is for me to do the remembering,
and with it there is no regret, for I know that from here-and-now to yesterday
and on to eternity, my God shall supply all of my needs in Christ Jesus,
including the daily living with someone whom I love so dearly, and must watch
their slow fading of nearby remembrances.
