Some Days are Diamonds

Thursday morning, I had a mediation that canceled, so I unexpectedly had a little extra time on my hands.

I stopped in to see my mom on my way into the office, a little after 9 a.m.  When I got to NHC Place, she wasn't in the main sitting room with most of the other residents.  I walked back to her room and she was still in bed, although the bed was raised up, and she had just finished breakfast.  She was disheveled but alert and it appeared she had eaten a full meal.

She wasn't as talkative as she normally is and I'm beginning to think that may be the new normal.  My mom has always been so verbal - a communicator - so it's going to be tough for me, I think, if that's changed.  I take after her in that way.  People always know what she thinks, about anything, and where they stand with her.  Right or wrong, that's me, too.

One of the CNA's I know was in the room, too, getting ready to get her out of bed and dressed.  I asked her if she could give us a few minutes to visit and she agreed.  Mom seemed a little uncomfortable and was fidgeting, so I lowered her bed and put a pillow behind her head.  She still wasn't talking much.

Because I couldn't help myself, I asked her, "Mom, do you know who I am?"

She stopped fidgeting, looked up at me and laughed.  "Of course I know who you are, you idget.  You're Phil Newman."

I smiled, through tears, stayed for a few minutes, then kissed my mom on the top of her head and left for work.

As Tom Petty wrote, "Some days are diamonds.  Some days are rocks."

Thursday morning was a diamond, for sure.