As we cross the parking lot I naturally reach back for her hand. Her slowness is slightly irritating as I want to rush through the store and get back out again, so we can go home. It is almost time for her to eat.
We arrive home and I do not even bother asking what she would like to eat, I put o her favorite TV show and tell her I will be right back.
I make a sandwich as fast as I can and present it to her.
"Is this for me?"
"It's all yours,"
I sit next to her and watch the show. I have seen this episode a thousand times, and my mind just drifts away to other thoughts...Will it be an easy night? Will she go to bed early so I can relax a little? I have laundry to do. I better check her room.
"Get that away from me."
She is talking about the cat, or the dog, either way, I do as she asks and remove the offending animal.
At night we sit outside and talk until it is bedtime. Bedtime involves taking her to the bathroom, if she has had an accident I calm her down and tell her not to worry, I have it under control.
We go to her room and make sure the night light is on first. Then I help her change in to what she calls her "night night shirt."
The bed is big for her and she seems so small in it.
When did she get so small?
She cleans the bottom of her feet as she always does and when she is in bed she positions the blankets so that her feet stick out.
Funny, I do the same thing.
She asks a lot of questions. She asks them over and over again. I can almost predict how the day will be by the first thing she says in the morning.
Sometimes she wakes up in the middle of the night and finds me and asks me to come lay down with her. Or she wakes up too early and I put her back in bed and lay down with her and try to get another hour or two of sleep in.
Her skin needs lotion every day. I try to remember this and gently massage lotion into her frail skin.
She dresses herself in the morning and I find this a great success.
We look for the same objects of security every day. Sometimes we look more than once. Sometimes I lose my patience.
She isn't reading so no books distract her. Conversation distracts and confuses her at the same time.
She laughs, she is silly and funny.
She used a nail brush on her hair and loved it. It is now her hair brush.
What ever works.
I know in my heart that she is meant to be here, she is meant to be with me always.
I know I will tame my patience and hire someone when I need a break.
My kayak remains dry and it is about mid summer. I miss the lake. I miss my previous life.
Still I would not let go of her for anything.
I ushered five children in to this world and out on their own, certainly I can spend a few years ushering one out.
I will not let go of her hand.
I will answer her questions.
I will lay down with her at night and stroke her hair, as she did for me many years ago.
She is my Mom.
Now it is my turn.
