Finding Mama

The cloudy day has not dimmed my spirits as I recall the sunny Saturdays of the 11th and 18t . My mother is beautiful and elegant. At eight- eight, she often succeeds in losing Alzheimer’s, remembers the faces of family, thrives on domestic chatter and in the words of her youngest daughter and carer “can hang with me”. This includes leaving home at 6.30AM and returning at nightfall for extended days out. Hanging out involves having flights delayed, cancelled or re-routed so that her journey time is eight hours longer. She gets to son's house completely orientated in place and names. She eventually makes it to bed past midnight without a single complaint.

I am in awe of this woman.

We shared no common interest during my childhood. Attempts by my mother to get close to her firstborn were thwarted by my disinterest in shopping , cooking or any thing remotely feminine. So most of my life, we loved each other but not our lives. Yet, I always knew that hers is a complex personality. In a crisis, she is a rock, in grief dignified, in tough times, loyal, always generous, a sharer of what she has but a hoarder of her thoughts.

Age and re-location have forced a walk in my mother’s shoes. As I reflect on the journey, my admiration of my mother intensifies. I long for her courage and her strength. Her commitment to do the right thing, her sense of duty and her hospitality are impossible to emulate but still they inspire me to try.

Now, at this time of our lives, our paths intertwine as we draw closer in interests.
On the 11th, I shared with her the joy of my brother’s successful surgery. Then on Sunday, we went to Church together. I am delightfully surprised that these days, a Sunday with mama is the highlight of the week.