WHO ARE WE ?
I wonder to mom who I might be this week. A mother, daughter, friend or relative? Lucky me that mom is still able to distinguish between sexes. Know need to worry that she might think I'm her son or even grandson.
In her world she can no longer explain how she sees or understands things. I sit, I listen and try to search some clues as she sometimes shares her passing thoughts. It amazes me how most of her life could just disappear as if in some ways it never existed.
Each day she wants to know when I will be coming to visit. She has been wanting to know this everyday for the last two weeks. So much so, that I have been wondering if she realizes that I have not seen her in several months. On the opposite side of the coin, I know that if I had just visited she would not remember that either. Yet I must admit that feelings of guilt have embraced me for several moments each time she mentions this.
Foolishly, I approach the topic with mom to see if she remembers what I look like and to have a little fun. "Of course I remember what you look like,"she responds. "You are beautiful." "Thanks mom except you are even prettier." Ruthie says,"I am?" "Yes mom you are very pretty." With some surprise in her voice she thanks me. For in my eyes my mother was and always will be quite beautiful .
Last night I found a picture of her holding my son when he was only a few weeks old. She looked so young, and vibrant as she cuddled him. As I looked at the picture I flashed back to her life twenty five years ago. Maybe not totally perfect, yet a life filled with love, family and friends. Today mom does not know that she has a grandson. A grandson who she so adored.
Unfortunately since she has macular degeneration for many years she has not been able to recognize her family in pictures. I believe that if she was able to see photos of us it could have helped her retain memories of each one of us.
As each day goes by I wait for her to throw me my kisses. Sometimes I receive them just as I requested . Then there are the times when she just hands the phone back to her caregiver, only to be reminded that her daughter is waiting for her kisses. Other days she wonders how can she kiss me through the phone and tells me that if I want her kisses I should come over and collect them.
Either way there never is a day that I hang up without receiving her delicious kisses. Kisses that mean the world to me. Kisses that I never take for granted. Kisses that I slip into my pocket to hold close to my heart . Mom's kisses bring such warmth and mean the world to me.
On good days mom knows who I am and on some off days she wonders who I am. As long as I can hear the sounds of her sweet voice it does not matter who to her I might be . I can only wish and pray that she may always have some memories of who we all are. For now I hold onto our brighter days never knowing when these may come to an end.
My Mom My Hero Book is for the special people we love in our lives.