The hospice nurse called to report Mom has lost two pounds since last week.
When I saw her this afternoon, she was quiet, lying flat in the bed with her pink elephant. I had a coffee table book of flower photos to share, and she did study the pictures earnestly, saying sometimes, "All the beautiful roses."
Sunny was squawking in the restroom, complaining because she wanted an aide to help her and also just yakking. I hung close to Mom's face so it was easier to hear.
She said, "I love you and you're my mother."
Cognitive misfiring?
My hair was hanging down and it brushed her face. I don't imagine Granny as ever wearing her hair loose, but she must have. I remember sneaking into her bedroom and seeing a big thick-bristle hairbrush on her dresser and (I think) a matching comb, with beautiful brown handles. I've never seen another hairbrush like that, so possibly it was a clothing brush. The bristles were thickly packed, like horsehair but soft.
I was 4 or 5, but it's a clear memory.
What was Mom's relationship with her? Did Granny lean in, smile to make Mom crinkle her eyes, place a cold hand on her forehead? I think of Granny as a reserved character, not big on the PDA; but of course she would have cuddled little Mom, who would have been adorable, a pretty, funny little girl.
Mom's room is becoming less like a place and more like a time zone, if that makes sense. A time zone where old time and new time exist side by side and both times refuse to stand still.
When I saw her this afternoon, she was quiet, lying flat in the bed with her pink elephant. I had a coffee table book of flower photos to share, and she did study the pictures earnestly, saying sometimes, "All the beautiful roses."
Sunny was squawking in the restroom, complaining because she wanted an aide to help her and also just yakking. I hung close to Mom's face so it was easier to hear.
She said, "I love you and you're my mother."
Cognitive misfiring?
My hair was hanging down and it brushed her face. I don't imagine Granny as ever wearing her hair loose, but she must have. I remember sneaking into her bedroom and seeing a big thick-bristle hairbrush on her dresser and (I think) a matching comb, with beautiful brown handles. I've never seen another hairbrush like that, so possibly it was a clothing brush. The bristles were thickly packed, like horsehair but soft.
I was 4 or 5, but it's a clear memory.
What was Mom's relationship with her? Did Granny lean in, smile to make Mom crinkle her eyes, place a cold hand on her forehead? I think of Granny as a reserved character, not big on the PDA; but of course she would have cuddled little Mom, who would have been adorable, a pretty, funny little girl.
Mom's room is becoming less like a place and more like a time zone, if that makes sense. A time zone where old time and new time exist side by side and both times refuse to stand still.
I've got no memories of Granny with her hair down, either, and the way it was pinned up was actually pretty complicated. Except, like Mom, she used to get her hair always (and only) done at the beauty salon, where I went with her many a time, so I have this vague recollection of her with wet, flat long hair draped over a plastic bib, but somehow that didn't count, wasn't an official look. And I don't recall any specific physical gestures of affection, either, except for the way adults lay hands on you to guide you in a certain direction or herd you--but when I was very little I had no reservations about hugging her legs and she'd always sort of pet me then, no recoil as there was with Mom. Mom did not want me to touch her and she did not touch me after about the age of 6 except for a swat on the butt (quite rare, actually).
ReplyDeleteMom was so reserved with me, too, that the rare instances in which she touched me were huge. I remember one day in church at St. Johns, I had been in trouble for crawling around, and she let me lean against her as we sat side by side in the pew, and I can still feel the weight of her hand on my head. It was so delicious and comforting. ... But she embraced me a lot in other ways — verbally, she was always stroking and comforting me.
DeleteI can't believe you remember St. John's!! Beautiful memory. Wow, I just realized that my user name on this blog is my ancient and forgotten user name way back when Google began.
DeleteI think this whole no-touch dynamic may well have been traditional in Irish families. Sad.
DeleteYou are the one that takes care of her, that makes sure she is safe, that comforts her- right now you are her mother--using the definition of mothering as nurturing and caring.
ReplyDelete