“I’m sending you a hug through the energy lines.”
“Thank you. I feel it.”
Just got off the phone with my 90 year old mother. She had a temperature for a few days and was on my mind, and in my heart. We spoke about simple things like watermelon and vine ripened tomatoes. I retold her about my family so she wouldn’t get confused trying to remember who was who. The dementia wasn’t fighting for her brain at the moment, so she could follow my words or a least that’s what I convince myself for my own comfort. She’ll forget I called as soon as she hangs up. These conversations, I realize are for me. Me. Me. Me.
Mom is tired and wants to go. I understand it, but letting go of her is a process that holds family ties. My father passed when he was in his mid seventies. It shook the family tree. Now with Mom, dementia and wishing death to take her is a whole new ballgame. Where will we go from this place in time?
My oldest sister asked me to write Mom’s obituary. I’m milling it over in my head…wishing it was an easier writing job. Listing family names and accomplishments seems easy, but for the writer me…how to express the true living in words…
I’ll hold a space for “what’s next.” Think I’ll go to the garden and let nature nurture.
(pats heart, and points to my mom)