"If nothing saves us from death, may love at least save us from life." - Pablo Neruda

Maybe it's the age I am at ...

everywhere I look I see people "tending" as best they can

to

their elderly people.

This past year I stood many times near the open earth

thinking about the dust we are

and the inanimate dust we lay down in to,

I am not dismayed by the poetry of it ...

He knows we are but dust

I do not find that difficult to accept

it helps me

and ... it helps me to tend to my elderly people.

My momma still recognizes my voice when I call her ... or maybe it's just that I have a feminine voice that says "Momma?" or more often, "Momma, it's DeAnn ... ".

I could call her every hour on the hour and she wouldn't remember the earlier conversation. 

I am prepared for the time coming (I know) when she won't remember me at all ... and the truth is, for her I am easy to forget as it has always been so.

She wants me to know that she can still drive

and she wants me to know that no-one will be in control of her.

Yes, I remember, that was Momma101, my mother in a nutshell: she is in control.

I thought, or maybe it was hope ... uh, wistfulness ...

that she would mellow out as her capabilities melted.

I thought she just might age well.

I know she has largely lost her way and not found another way ...

she is in the weeds

we have been tending a garden for her but she can't find her way out of the weeds.

I extend my hand to her, but her hand doesn't know gentle

she slams down the phone more often then not

because she can't reach me.

My brother is working very hard to provide the very best situation for our mother.  She thwarts him at every turn.  It seems like a game to her, but I recognize it as a way of life.  Her "craftiness" has made it possible for her to remain largely "independent" but the cost of it is awful, and payment is coming due.  "Just wait 'til you're in this situation ... you'll know exactly how this feels!  You think you know what's best for me!"  She screams it through the phone and I close my eyes seeing her ... rage ... fear ... her lost in the weeds-ness.  I understand how she got there.  I get it.

I saw a wonderful video the other day.  People were jumping off a cliff and swinging down in to a canyon.  Perfect.  Every little bit of me smiled to see that, and it calls to me.  I want to do that too.  And I wonder ... what makes something like that possible for one person, impossible to another?  That night, after enjoying the video, I dreamed I was diving in to the deep.  In the dream I was telling myself to stretch my hands towards the water, and as dreams allow one to do, I had a few do overs as I aligned my body to follow those outstretched hands.  It was something like jumping off of a cliff might be ... intentionally falling in to the deep unknown.  I like the feeling of it.  I like the ... trust of it.  

I am wondering about CONTROL.  What drives a person to pursue control for controls sake?  And ... gosh, the price that is exacted by the controller on themselves and on the controlled ... it's such a waste because nothing is gained by anyone caught in the circle.  Nothing.  It only takes away ... and takes one away.  It may be the very saddest of human conditions.  

I recounted to my husband this thing my mom had about being in the water ... wading, swimming ... boating.  Any water event (Daddy teased that 3" of bathwater was almost more then enough with Momma ... he was always trying to coax her towards the surf.)  She says she nearly drowned at her HS graduation party because she went out into the Gulf, fell in to a hole (or somehow got sucked in to a hole) and someone who was with her was standing on her shoulders holding her under (yes ... in the hole along the shoreline).  As a child that story rounded my eyes in wonder and maybe in fear ... my Dad insisted that we were all going to be strong swimmers (thanks for that gift, btw).  My brothers and I have collected many of the fondest memories right there in or near the water.  And ... water things are one of my strongest metaphoric reference points ... and also where I feel best in general.  Later in life the story of the drowning hole/person standing on my shoulders seemed less and less likely an actual event, but I accept the reality of my mom's fears and what is represented there ... .  The part of me that hears her calling warnings (and threats of punishment) from the shoreline also recognizes that she  did ultimately have to let us go in knowing that deeper and deeper was farther and farther away from what/where she would prefer for us.  I think maybe being raised by a mom who adamantly refused to loosen control shaped me in to someone who could laugh as I stepped off the edge.  She definitely helped build a swimmer ... . Maybe I was a bit reckless with myself when I was younger, and maybe some of the places I jumped/swam/flew myself to were not where I should have best been.  Mostly I would say I learned the crucial lessons of self-control ... and the painful lessons of thinking that demonstrating trust was about letting someone else be in control.  

I would like so much for her to trust herself to our best intentions for her.  Never to control her as she most fears, but to guide her towards the garden that her old-age could be.  Today ... this very day as my brother coaxes her towards signing the power of attorney papers which are a requirement of caring for her, I wish she could gentle herself towards trusting someone trustworthy.  I wish she could feel as safe as she truly is to accept a helping hand.  Oh, it could be so much easier for her ... so pleasant.  My brother says, don't call her ... it only causes you grief and she doesn't even benefit at your expense.  She doesn't remember me because she never could see me ... she continues to see only pieces of herself.  She just wasn't able.  I hoped she would forget that about herself.