Sunday, February 9, 2014

It is 5:41 am. Awoke an hour ago. Yesterday Jon, Marcy, Ava, and Quinn came to visit mom/grandma/great-grandma. We went to Say Cheese, the ultimate restaurant for comfort food. While walking Mom to the restaurant from the car, I wanted so much for her to keep her old pace. That hurried clip. But she grew out of breath fast. It was so cold, too, as almost every day has been this winter. She ate quietly, not able to hear the conversation well enough to join in, and even if she could hear, she would not have remembered enough to have participated on any meaningful level. Mom was there, but only part of her.

We went off to Haute Chocolate for dessert, but mom chose to stay in the car for that part of the visit. Too much for her. Too tiring. John sat with her in the car, I didn’t. I was delighted that Ava wanted to sit next to me and that Quinn was engaging. And John needed to be with mom. So why did I wake up feeling guilty that I was willing to leave her alone in the car while we did the cupcake detour.

When I awoke this morning, I cried, feeling loss. Started thinking about a date I had had back in the early 70s. Someone I had met in a class wanted to join me on a skiing weekend. He had never skied before. But off we went to Hunter Mountain with dear friends Nadia and Nestor. Stayed at Xenia (hotel), of course. Can’t remember this young man’s name. Might have been Ronnie. Not sure. That was our only date. After hours of skiing on the slopes alone, I finally stopped in the lounge, where I met Nadia, who chastised me for not having checked up on—it was Hal, yes, Hal. I had no idea where Hal was or had been, but she quickly clued me in: he had broken his leg, and it was a serious break. Full cast. I thought she was kidding at first, but no. I was shocked, but I also remember feeling annoyed. I don’t remember much of what happened after that, except to say that I visited him and brought his supper to his room at the mountain that night. He was propped up in bed and said that I was so kind. I protested, saying I wasn’t, and this morning, that same remorse hit me again. I had not been kind. I wasn’t kind. I wasn’t any kinder to him than I had been to my mother, who wanted to stay in the car by herself because she was tired and didn’t want dessert.

When I awoke, I also felt fear. What if they all left me at once—Mom, Rob, Valentino, Lucy, John, Marcy, Ava, Quinn. (I heard Lucy breathing sweetly this morning at the foot of my bed. So I knew she was fine.) Did the quartet make it back safely to Maryland? Is mom sleeping soundly? Is Rob comfortable and well? Is Valentino OK?

Valentino was a bad boy yesterday. It was his birthday—eighth or ninth. Our vet thinks he is older than I was told. We all sang Happy Birthday, and I gave him a little Valentine pillow to play with. (Gave one to Lucy, too, of course.) Anyhow, Val took exception to my hugging and holding Quinn and did the jealous rant. He tried to nip, but was easily stopped. Still, it was getting tiring. He didn’t put on a good show for the troops.

After our company left, mom was sweet. She was tired. I sat and watched TV with her, something I am loathe to do. I am not fond of spending hours in front of the “box” (I remember when it was a box and not a thin wafer), except if it’s “Frasier” or back in the old days “M*A*S*H”. Sometimes I like watching HGTV (Home & Garden TV), but that can get boring fast. “The Property Brothers” are cute and very talented, and the dynamic between Hillary and her TV partner David on “Love It or List It” is fun. I like the pair. But the nonsense they encounter in the homes and with the listing couple is far too often contrived, too formulaic. I like the formula used by PG Wodehouse—they always work. But cinematic formulas quickly become boring.

Anyhow, mom likes company more than anything. And I give her precious little of it. Precious little, apart from what I am bid to do so many times during the day. It’s almost hard to volunteer more time. I begin to resent it. Last night, while I was editing a manuscript, mom interrupted so many times, too many times. I finally put the work down. That’s when I joined her at the television.

Mother Teresa and Saint Teresa must both be looking down at me sadly, wondering why the loving heart is too often not at work. It often begrudges time away from work or “things I must do.” I told Marcy that it’s tough “living with your mother again.” Marcy was solicitous while I complained about mom telling me to put the lights out, to wear a sweater, to put on shoes, to not let the dogs out, to hang this up or put this away, to sit here and eat. It just hit me this very moment—as I thoughtlessly went on about how my mother has reinserted herself into my life, this cannot happen for Marcy. Marcy’s mom died last May. She won’t have the chance to live with her again. Am I still that young woman sitting on the chair next to Hal’s bedside, wishing I weren’t there, but out skiing instead?  I awoke asking for forgiveness, as I often do. Having mom here has greatly intensified my awareness of my shortcomings. I hope somewhere Hal has forgiven me. I hope somehow I can be a more loving presence to Marcy and her family and to mom.