I'm rambling, tonight...
...I'm sure I'll be going to bed, soon.
    I just wanted to record, as a reminder to myself more than anything else, that today was a my-own-personal day versus a personal-caretaker-of-elderly-mother day. It was tricky and I may have indulged in a little manipulation to make sure we had some hours of distance between us. I gambled that today was the day when she and I both needed a vacation from one another and I was right. When I left she was seated upright and awake. When I returned, several hours later, she was seated, upright, this time in the living room, the TV on, with evidence of peanuts having been eaten as well as slices of cheese. She didn't look too dehydrated, just her normal ragged look. All three of them, the cats and my mother, looked very well rested. All were ready for company again, ready for me, and I was ready for them.
    The tricky thing about how I spent my-own-personal time is that I spent it in the company of friends I share in common with my mother. If I had given her a couple of days notice she might have worked herself up to the idea of coming with me. I often encourage her to come with me on my visits with these friends. Her knowledge of them, in fact, pre-dates mine. But I knew I would be running into and meeting other people, as well, people to whom I was eager to direct my undivided attention, and if I had invited my mother, hmmm...well, my attention would definitely have been divided.
    However, I know she's been having a slow, crawling week. She's recovering, thanks to an extra iron pill and my dogged efforts to keep her from sleeping 24 hours straight. She has been on oxygen a lot, simply because she's been asleep a lot. And, during these times I nag her, a lot. I can get away with it because she and I are very good friends and share a long and intense history, but she gets tired of being nagged, and I get tired of nagging.
    My friend encouraged me to, "bring Mom, if you want." She is always careful to add that last phrase. Her father, with whom I forged a fine and close friendship, had been living with her for, oh, about 4 years. He had been a 20 year stroke-that-should-have-killed-him survivor, and survived better, during his last years, in his daughters house. He died, recently. Mom, in fact, inherited his wheelchair, about which she is sometimes delighted and sometimes wary. She is, in other words, very familiar with these people with very little reminding, and loved by them all. But, last night, when I broached the subject of my visit today, she expressed somewhat less interest in accompanying me than she did in being left alone for an afternoon.
    As I look back I see that my opportunities to nurture my-own-personal life are becoming, well, stretched thin. There was a time, when we began this adventure, that my mother and I had very separate lives. Our familiarity with and involvement in each other's lives was high, but she, for instance, would take herself to animated movies, about which I am painfully picky, and I would, after work, attend, sometimes on the spur of the moment, a rush hour flick. I'd pause to call her and let her know and she'd take mental note that we'd both be meeting home later around the same time after one or another of her in-area interest meetings, or a visit with her relatives. That was when she was 77. She'll be 86 this August.
    Like I hinted before, sometimes I think that this time next year I'll be alone. Then, sometimes I think, no, maybe not 5 years, anymore, but probably over a year. Maybe even well over a year.
    I'm not sure what it is that tells me this. Sometimes, having these thoughts is a bit like being haunted. This afternoon, when my friend asked me about my mother, knowing that it's been intense for both her and me these last few weeks, I heard myself say, "Well, it isn't 'a good five years', anymore. Maybe one. Maybe." Then I thought about how her color was improved, this morning, and backed-up a bit on my estimate. It's pretty flexible, now. I felt a little guilty, in fact, stating this out loud, this sentence, and hastily and strongly qualified it, as though my saying this would have an effect on my mother's life span.
    And, I needed today, I sucked as much as I could from it, and made plans 'to do this again, soon.'
    And I will.
    Good. Night.
- posted by gail rae @ 23:05   email...this post