Mom was a trooper, today (Sunday).
    As usual, even though I spent some time yesterday preparing her mentally for an extended shopping trip today, heightening its appeal by promising her that we'd stop for Chinese-to-go on our way home (over the last week every time we pass the franchise in one of our local groceries I've had to steer her away because we already have something thawing for dinner), she was, as usual, hard to get moving. She's never been a morning person and the better she feels (and is), the more likely she is, as she's told many in her family she did as a child, to have a hard time getting to bed because she is afraid she's going to miss something. Now that she's retired she doesn't have a reason to force herself out of her morning lethargy, part of which is due to the late hours she's keeping now. It's a mixed blessing. On the one hand, I am thrilled to watch her slip back into her natural circadian rhythms. On the other hand, one of those natural rhythms is such a slow, gentle morning beat that at least once every morning now I have to turn her back from her bedroom and insist we begin getting ready for whatever we've planned.
    I'm beginning to adjust, sort of, to this. We're eating all our meals later, she's taking her medication later. Unfortunately I'm a very early morning person who would love to be able to go to bed, as I used to, around 2000-2030 so I can arise around 0300 or 0400. I want to be up with my mother though, and it's easier for me to adjust than her so I'm spending a lot of time burning my candle at both ends these days. My energy level remains very high and seems to be able to refresh itself with a dead-to-the-world afternoon nap every four to five days while Mom is napping.
    Today at Walmart in the fabric department, the associate who waited on us was a woman in her mid 60's. After she measured and cut the facing I was purchasing she turned and caressed Mom's back, smiled with delight and said, "This is your mother, isn't she? You're very lucky."
    "I know," I said, smiling back with equal delight. "I'm her companion."
    "I could tell," she said. "You remind me of my sister and my Mom when they're out. She's, oh, 86, now."
    "So's my mom," I said, reaching over to join the woman in rubbing my mother's back. Because of the occasional disapproving looks I get from those distant from their own Ancient Ones when they see my Ancient One pushing the cart while I'm meandering alongside it is automatic for me to mention that she walks better when she's pushing a cart, thus, she walks more.
    The woman waved away my explanation and my concern. "I know," she said. "My sister does the same thing. It's good for them."
    While both she and I rubbed my mother's back and arms and my mother grinned (and probably purred) like the Cheshire Cat, the associate and I chatted a bit about our parents' "times past", as she put it. She asked my mother a few questions, having to lean into her and repeat them, then nudged me and said, "My mother doesn't hear very well either," as though it was a joke Ancient Ones play on the rest of us. "Pay attention to her," she advised me. "She knows more about life that any of us. She's seen so much."
    She went on to thank me for being my mother's companion. "I'm so grateful my sister is doing this for my parents," she added. "I tried to keep up with [her parents] for awhile but it was impossible. I'm lucky to have my sister be able to live with them, take care of them, make sure they live well [I'd never heard it put this way, before]. It takes a load off my mind. When I was doing what I could, we'd hire people to be with them when we couldn't be there but we all worried so much. Now that my sister is with them we're all so relieved. It is a wonderful thing you're doing. People you don't know appreciate you for it."
    By this time my mother was beginning to show signs of wanting to move toward the exit. I began making our apologies, thank-yous and good-byes. The associate said, "I can see she's ready to sit for awhile. I'm glad you came in. I hope someone is telling my sister, today, what a good thing she's doing. Don't forget how lucky you are."
    I won't.

    This evening we played three long, animated, teasing games of Sorry, which we bought today. It's a hit with both of us. I won all three but this time it was strictly chance. I've noticed that I've been experiencing a run of extremely lucky, felicitous days recently. I even took the trouble to explain this to Mom. I was beginning to feel guilty for winning so much. Last night in one Yahtzee game I got four Yahtzees. I needn't have bothered. She is neither a sore loser nor an in-your-face winner like I am so she wasn't bothered by it. After some initial groping to remember the rules and argue with the box about how "they've changed since the last time I played" she settled into the game and played zestfully.
    In the last week as well, I discovered that our cable channel has several music stations. Mom woke up from her nap, I think it was on Tuesday, as I was playing the Big Band station to help settle and revive me from a series of frustrating, anger producing phone calls over a business blunder to which I couldn't seem to get the perpetrator (a bank) to admit, much less apologize for and solve.
    "Where's that coming from?" Mom asked as she entered the living room.
    Over the last few years she's been so super-sensitive to music that she hasn't wanted to listen to it and I've taken this debility on, although I've also been forcing myself, for the last half year or so, out of desperation, to work myself out of it. I scrambled toward the TV in response to her question. "Here, Mom, I'll turn it off. I just needed to listen to a little music."
    "No. Leave it on." She was waving her hand to the music as though she was scanning a hall signaling her availability to potential dance partners. "It's been a long time since we've had music around here. It's nice." She two-stepped into the dining room to look for her coffee cup.
    Since Thursday the Big Band station has been playing regularly at our house. Tonight while I was rubbing her down she asked if that was the only station. I ran through the line-up and she chose a few she'd like to try "later". "Do you mind?" she asked.
    Absolutely not. I didn't think the reintroduction of music into my life, let alone hers and mine, would ever happen again. It is my pleasure.
- posted by gail rae @ 01:09   email...this post