On the table is a puzzle with the funny face of a dog wearing glasses. Even though much of the puzzle is unfinished, it is easy to imagine what the picture will eventually become. Puzzling gives us an activity to share with my Mom who likes to sit, have a cup of tea and move pieces around while we try to build it.
Recently, I’ve been trying to figure out what pieces remain of my Mom, the Mom I knew growing up; the Mom I used to turn to when I needed help. While outwardly, she still looks like my beautiful Mom, there are many crucial pieces missing. Unlike the puzzle we are working on together, my Mom seems to be losing pieces of herself every day. Today, she forgot how to put on her shoes and needed help walking down the hall. Yesterday, she didn’t know how to write her name or even what it was.
In spite of those missing pieces, what remains is her sunny personality, her easy smile and her desire to help. All of her years serving as a missionary in Japan, being a Mom, a Social Worker and a Grandma have left her asking repeatedly, “Can I help you with something?” She says it so often and with such enthusiasm that I eagerly look for a simple chore for her to do but more often than not, she has forgotten the offer before I figure out something she can still manage. Sometimes she can set the table and does it better than Rocky who never seems to get the fork or spoon in the right places. (Jeez, Honey.) Yesterday, she could fold a pillow case but today she can only sit and stare. Maybe tomorrow she will be able to sort the socks in the basket of clean laundry, or not.
Last week, in a study group I’m attending on the Bhagavad Gita, we were encouraged to contemplate our Atman, or Inner Self, asking “Who Am I?” It is not uncommon for all of us to identify with our physical bodies, our jobs, our marital status, our gender, our sexual preference, our country of origin, or even our favorite activities. But what is really at our core, our True Essence? What is the part of ourselves that is unchanging, always peaceful and able to witness our choices and how they affect us without reacting?
This personal meditation led me to also wonder what is the essence of my Mom? As she slowly loses the parts of herself that identified her as my mom, what is left at her core? At her soul level she still wants to be of service, even as her physical body and her mind fail her. When she stops talking mid-sentence and stares over my shoulder, I try to remind myself that she is probably communing more with the Spirit World now and is therefore less interested in what I’m saying or what is happening around her.
Don’t we laugh and tell ourselves our babies are smiling at angels when they stare into space? I want to believe that my Mom is having a similarly sweet exchange with cherubs that only she can see. I’m guessing that what will remain of my Mom as the final pieces drop away will be a smile, as she asks me one last time, “Can I help you?” And I will be reminded that her True Self, the real essence of who she was, the only piece that really mattered, remained present until the last breath.
I love this. I often think the same way. We ease into life and out of life similarly, with veils parting and closing.
I appreciate our parallel paths in this life, Kathy. Thank you for your kindness.
Once when we were in deep contemplatiion about this very topic I asked Vyaas about those with Alzheimer’s, “what about them- their memories, their life, all the wisdom”? He said it’s the mechanism of access that is broken, like a disc crash, all the memories are remain with them just the ability to read it is gone”. I liked his answer then and I like it now – it aligns with more of what I’ve experienced and come to understand about Prakrti.
These stories are so beautiful. Thank you for sharing yourself in this way. I hope I can be as loving and kind should I be called for duty with my mom.
Kathryn- that is so helpful to hear. I am grateful you thought to ask Vyas that question. His answer resonates with me as well. Every once in awhile I get a glimpse of my Mom as I knew her before the disease, a flicker of her as I remember her, but then it fades quickly. I do believe it is her access to that wisdom that is gone. I am grateful for this yogic path that gives me tools for understanding tough situations and helps me negotiate them with more grace. I have no doubt your years of practice would do the same for you. Much gratitude for your words this morning!
Yup, every time I have to move through a rough patch I think the same way, so glad I’ve the yoga to see me through. And to give me perspective in a wide and less scary way!
This makes me cry. Your words hit a deep chord in me. I am reminded through your mom, the loss of my sister and the prion disease that took her mind and life so rapidly. I didn’t have the wisdom you have just shared to see it unfold and your perspective brought me great comfort. There is much grief in the daily loss Jeni and I thank you for sharing your deep soul. I love this piece. ❤️
Pat xox
Thank you, Pat. You have always inspired me with your willingness to get back up and face life with such grace after loss. I am glad I could provide even a moment of comfort to you with my words. This life is easier for all of us when we help each other, isn’t it? I am grateful to have you in my life.
Jeni, Jen, Jen…
Having my mom return from just being with you and Aunt Mary has brought your stories closer to home. I was thinking about how much your mom sought nature in her life. She always had good walking shoes when she came to visit and was forever getting everybody up and out of their chairs. She loved to row the boat, walk in the woods, play badminton (we had a net in the driveway on Ancon), swing, throw a ball and just hook arms and stroll. She always took me on my special aunt/niece stroll when she visited. Her arm would hook into mine like we were going square dancing. She would lean in and ask me how I “really” was. I always confided in her and felt better for it. At the early stages, when her memory was just beginning to be an issue, she laughed when she saw me and said, “Talk to me, Katy. You can really tell me ANYTHING now because I promise I won’t remember!” She visited me in my current house two times and we ate outside and hiked nearby. I could not imagine a visit with Aunt Mary that did not involve something outdoorsy.
When my mom was telling me the details of her recent visit, the one story that hugged my heart was when you all tried to take a walk. I guess it was a spectacularly sunny, blue sky day in Seattle and you had all been inside. When you and mom started the long process of getting Mary dressed and ready to walk, by the time she was all set, she became dizzy and fell as she headed toward the door. I think you cushioned her fall and guided her as she crawled to the couch and pull herself up into a safe position until the dizziness wore off. My mom sent you and Rocky on the walk and stayed inside with Mary. Mom was so happy to have been able to give you the gift of leaving to enjoy the day (even for a brief walk) because she knows you can never do that.
Aunt Mary was the family camp director. She would have been the first one up and out the door after giving a motivational yell to all of us. Not going was not an option for anyone. She was a child of the mountains and the earth. Nature was always where she flourished and went to relax and rejuvenate. At least from this niece’s perspective. I only remember visits, not day to day life.
I see Aunt Mary walking on a trail with her head held high so she can take it all in. I love knowing that at least one piece of her beautiful self was restorative. No wonder she had so much to give! Love you, Katy
Thanks for sharing your sweet memories, Cousin!
This was so beautifully written that I could see everything in my mind as I read it. What beautiful memories you have of an obviously wonderful woman. I don’t know any of you but your writing has touched me in a deep way. ❤
Thank you Jennifer!
Thank you, Jeni. Your words and your insights are amazing. It would be wonderful if Mary were aware of where she is or what is going on.
Thank you, Dad.
Hi Jeni,
What a beautiful story you shared with all of us. I wonder too about my mom and how things are starting to slip for her. Our mother/daughter relationship hasn’t always been easy for us, but we made a committment to always try and we’ve held true to it. In doing so, I made a friend for life. I struggle now with being so far away. I wonder if she is okay, knowing she won’t tell me if she isn’t. I know she is scared at times of the unknown. The uncertainty of what is ahead of her with her health, her mind, her indepedence. I have a brother with Szichophrenia and my dad lost his mind and became a ward of the state several years before he passed. When my brother was off his meds, the parralels between the two was uncanny, completely different diseases and yet I witnessed how they were playing out in the day to day so similarily. They were right there with me, talking and laughing and then the next moment gone in the recesses of their own mind. Where did they go? How could I get them back? For me, as I watch my mom now, I am filled with melancholy, I am losing my friend piece by piece. It’s the piece by piece that gets me. Since I am not there with my mom in her day to day life I am given stretches of time where I get to forget or pretend that all is well. I look at you and know there is great courage living and embracing this journey with your mom every day. I applaud your strength and depth of character for being there for her. I know you don’t necessariy want to be acknowledged for you at this time but know that because you are who you are, you are such a gift to your mom. The best version of yourself comes from these years that you give open heartedly, standing in the fire with her. It is a sacred place many people don’t get to go. You are doing it with grace and wisdom and love. I love and miss you my friend. Hugs, Michelle
Michelle- great to hear from you! Thank you for sharing your story as well. I miss you and love you and hope our paths cross again soon. Much love, Jeni