Some somethings...

It seems to me that losing a parent is very often a process.

This is such strange language - "losing a parent" - I could make fun of this turn of phrase but I realize that it is actually appropriate. I have lost her - or I am losing her. Her body is still here with us but I don't know where she is. I recognize that she is in a strange place - a place I can only know when I get there. I can't be there with her now.

She seems to be uncertain and a bit dissatisfied about it all sometimes - and other times she is resigned and accepting. She doesn't say she wishes she could remember anymore - she just says she can't.

She is happy to sit on the front porch now - something she never seemed to enjoy previously. It is almost a passion. "We love it out there!", she exclaims to me when she tells me that she and Dad have been out there most of the day.

What happened to the mom that wanted to stay out of sight and out of the limelight? The mom that always stayed at home when we lived in the country? The mom that some people assumed had already passed because they had not seen her in so long? She's on the front porch in a house in town - smoking and knitting - most all day. Most everyday.

Is she shedding her earthly misery now? Is she seeing the light at the end of the tunnel? Is she free now? Free to show herself to the world - free to be a part of it because she is no longer long for it? Was most of my life my mother's chrysalis? Is she ready to spread her wings and shine and fly and leave all the unhappiness behind?

Even when she is confused or addled, she is sweet and tender with me when we talk on the phone. Her voice sounds like she loves me - like she knows I am her child and she is conveying something of great importance to me.

But she is failing. She is failing and I am in the same boat my brother is in, really. We both think that if we don't acknowledge it, it won't BE. I just do it much closer than he does. Well, it is happening. I can't deny it much longer. It is hard.

I just want what I have always wanted: for her to be happy. I hope that when she makes this transition, that the universe will see fit to bless her with all the hope and happiness and joy that slipped through her fingers in this lifetime.