New year, old mom

I haven’t written in a long while. Too much, so much, in many ways, to sit down and try to collect my thoughts, organize them and corral them to paper.  And yet here it is, Rosh Hashanah. I find myself feeling reflective and in need of …. An outlet? An emotional release? The notion that if I can put all these thoughts and feelings on paper, I can move past them, stay with them, and generally not be overpowered by them. Maybe.

While I am not religious I can appreciate the renewal of the holiday and the notion of reviewing one’s life and relationships. Call it a yearly check in, a personal accounting of sorts. First and foremost I am bowled over with love and luck that my mother is here to celebrate a new year. Having turned 90 this past year, this is no small feat. Almost two years ago, my mom was on hospice and I was trying to wrap m mind around saying goodbye. But Bub, as most call her, is the definition of “one tough old broad.”  She was strong fierce, and intimidating when I was growing up and she can be a handful now. She is also fragile, indecisive, tentative and wholly cranky at times. Her world is smaller. She sits at the head of her dining room table and rules her small domain. That is her command post. The smaller her world becomes the more attentive to detail she is. “What’s that on the floor?” “Who moved my papers?” “Where is my pen?” She has everything she needs within reach. It is often difficult to write about my mom, because it feels somehow disloyal or disrespectful to share my most human feelings of love, frustration, and the fear of her living a life with diminished quality coupled with the fear of my life without her. I am grateful beyond words for the time we have spent together.

My mother should get an honorary social work degree. She encouraged me, supported me, listened to me rattle and rant about everything I was learning. She shared my excitement and endured my outrage at things I was learning or seeing more clearly than ever before.

While physically mom has been getting a bit more frail over time, it is only recently that she is having trouble remembering things. Her brain and her mouth aren’t communicating as well as they used to and sometimes things come out more like a game of sounds like/connected to/could be or she just gets frustrated and offers the Bub equivalent of “blah, blah, blah.”

So many of us go through this. Yet each and every time it feels unique. There is no handbook or instruction to follow. There is no guide for watching the strongest, most fierce , most important person in your life need help with the most basic things. She looks to me for answers. Wait, I want to scream. Wait! I have to call my mom, she’ll tell me what to do.

Some people tell me I’m a momma’s girl. Others tell me I spend too much time with her. I’m okay if both of those statements are true. Spending time with my mom is a gift to both of us. There are moments when I want to throttle her and in the next moment, want to hug her forever.  As I look to this New Year, I wish my mom peace and tranquility. I hope for her an ease of being in the world until it’s not. I hope for patience and humor and a gentle way of being with her.  I hope for her to feel the love that envelops her. I hope to continue to make her laugh.

Happy New Year, mom. May it be sweet, happy and healthy in every way. I love you.