There's a salesman there - Michael - who was an acquaintance but has become a friend. His mother, Dean, has been in the Courtyard at NHC Place, where my mom was the several months of her life. I got to know Dean a little bit because she was there when my mom was there and I often said hi to her, especially after I made the connection with Michael when I saw him there one day.
When I see him occasionally, we have these brief but intense conversations about, well, life. My mom and how much I miss her. His mother and how difficult her circumstances are right now. We talk about death, too. It's the other side of the same coin or so it seems.
Michael goes by to see his mother often, if not every morning, then pretty close to it. I get the sense that he doesn't have other family with whom to share the responsibility of caring for his mother. I think we connect so easily because he knows, really knows, that I understand exactly what he's going through with his mother. Not an approximately of what he's going through but exactly what he's going through.
As we talked yesterday, I was reminded of how much I enjoyed stopping by to see my mom, first at Maristone, and later at NHC Place (Aspen Arbor, then the Courtyard). I've written about this before, I know, but there was something about being there - being with her - that centered me and brought me an unabiding sense of peace.
In the middle of a busy work day or a busy weekend, it was nice to downshift to neutral and just sit with my mom for a little while. It's weird but when I was with her - on the inside (of Maristone, Aspen Arbor or the Courtyard) - the outside world receded. My every day concerns - personal and professional - disappeared, at least temporarily. I think that was one of my mom's last gifts to me, to provide me a place of respite, where I could sit quietly and, well, just "be" for a few minutes. I think she knew I needed that.
That's one of things I miss now, I think. The interludes of quiet and peacefulness, and the feeling that for those few minutes, I was where I was supposed to be doing what I was supposed to do. Spending time with my mom. It was intense, concentrated and focused and yet, it brought me peace and helped me recharge my batteries just a bit so I could find the energy to resume my place in my small part of the world, such as it is. Again, I miss that, a lot.
There was a time - in the relatively early days of my mom's stay at Maristone - when I often stopped by during my workday, in the early afternoon, after lunch. As my mom reclined in her chair in the two room apartment on the second floor, I stretched out on her couch in my suit, and napped off an on for 20 or 30 minutes. When I stirred, my mom would tell me to close my eyes and rest, that I was probably tired and needed a nap. She was right, as always.
It brought me great comfort to wake up, refreshed, and see he sitting in her chair watching me with voices from the television droning quietly in the background. I'd give her hug and a kiss, tell her goodbye, and head back to work.
In those days, her apartment was an oasis and a port in a storm for me. A safe harbor, in a way. I miss that and so much more about my mom.
I knew it then, sort of, and I know it now, too. Boy, do it know it now. Still, I forget it sometimes, which is human nature, I guess.
There's beauty everywhere. Sometimes you have to look a little harder to find it.
Even in the darkest days with my mom, there was beauty. And I miss that most of all.
No comments:
Post a Comment