Moose and Mother as Muse

It's like something important dropped from my hands, crashed to the kitchen floor, shattered to a thousand sparklies and it's gone. You can expect something for a long time, and know it's coming, even want it, yet still not be quite prepared. Just like that, it was dropped and gone.

I called the nurse after I washed and lotioned and dressed her, after I painted her nails, put her lipstick on and did her hair, so she'd be ready; the nurse called the chaplain.

Chaplain Fran came right over, but before sitting down to her prayers, a tiny moose walked under the window - a moose far, far too young to not have a mama nearby.

A moose represents movement to and from this world, movement in the void, truths acknowledged that were denied, parts of the hidden self that are found, strength and self respect, and unseen speed.

With unseen speed she was gone, even if we both knew for weeks it was coming, but like seeing the bullet train I can only remember the Doppler effect.

The tiny moose is back this morning, looking hungry; it is not quite light yet. Something scared it back between the houses; the wind is up, and it has lain down next to my crawl-space vent. Something about it taking shelter at my house comforts me, even more than knowing my mother is free of the in-valid body that had trapped her for the last forty years.

"What doesn't kill us makes us stronger." If that is true my mother was the strongest person I ever knew. Making the step to trust me, to come from her lifelong home to live with me in Alaska was a huge step; the trusting me, I mean. In the last two years she told me many things about her I never knew - even one or two things I think she had never acknowledged to herself.

Lucky me - I was not her favorite child - yet we have had a lovely time.

My Mom is So Funny, page 8

Chaz Bono is on Dancing with the Stars, hugely overweight while complaining about leg pains from the effort.

We watch him wrap his hairy legs, beefy, hairy arms covered with tattoos. Nice tats, Chaz, by the way.

Chaz dances up a storm, I think, but gets roundly criticized by the judges.

That face. I can still recall that face when she was a tot, so adorable. I was a Cher fanatic, ‘way back when… still a fan… always will be.

Mom says, “He is too fat,” with a look of disgust. “I don’t like guys with tattoos.”

I smile.

I point my tattoo at her. My one and only industrial accident resulted in an amputation and extreme self-consciousness about it. Nearly thirty years later I hit upon the solution of tattooing an image there, two eyes – or is it butterfly wings? – or a bird? – or, well, beauty is in the eye of the beholder and to me, the tattoo makes my chopped finger into a puppet.

“You have an excuse,” she states firmly, “besides, you’re not a guy.”

.

My Mom is So Funny, page 6, Reunion

Mom got a phone call from a classmate, Mary Alice, who had attended the All School Reunion this weekend back in their old home town. Mom & her classmates are so up in years this small-town school doesn't hold a reunion for the class year, but for all students who wish to attend.

We heard the only ones from her class there were Marge, Mary Alice, and Edith.

I said I had never heard of Edith before (I thought I knew all her classmates) she said I wouldn't want to know her. This shocks me a bit because my mother, albeit adroit with her sharp tongue, has always been polite about people. She said Edith has no personality. I don't know what that means. More surprising, this is someone mom has remembered over all these years yet never mentioned.

Living with my mother the last year-and-a-half, I've learned more gossip about my parents' cohorts than I ever imagined possible.

She is so animated and happy tonight hearing about the reunion - expressing her regret to her friend that she now lives with me and could not attend. I was happy that she knows where she's at - that we couldn't go, but then she asked Mary Alice if the chairman had read her letter.

I asked what letter is that?

She says she wrote a letter on her computer to the chair, and had mailed it, but she wasn't surprised that he hadn't read it because the only people he cared about were the football players. Now I'm wondering what that implies.

Somehow, I think the social idiosyncrasies we are concerned about these days are not new.

Perhaps more scandalous in days gone past, perhaps not; it appears they were just tolerated a different way.

My Mom is So Funny, page 3

We are training a new aide, a certified nurse assistant (CNA) for EM, my quadriplegic, 85-year-old mother who came to live with me 18 months ago.

Our new CNA is from Nigeria, so I see her pause and translate in her mind the things I tell her to do, or details about EM's care or preferences. I admire people who can come to a new country, learn a new language, and I assume a new profession. There are enough challenges in daily life without adding that whole lot to it.

I'm also looking forward to learning about her and what brings her here, and how she lived before.

EM is reticent with the new aide. People with her diagnosis (multiple sclerosis) I've been told, have difficulty with transitions, but I don't believe it, I think my mother is just stubborn, sedentary and set in her ways. She's always been like this. She also has a fast tongue which is how she tests you.

If you don't get the joke, if you can't take the insult, she'll just ignore you.

Well. We don't have a choice about it when aides change out. The agencies who provide the helpers through Medicare funding make the choices about rotating their people. I am grateful for the help because EM cannot be left alone anymore; it's a long story of why I do not want to put her back in a nursing home - I'll save that for another day.

So EM argues with me today in front of our new CNA. She insists the woman will get along with her, or she'll get along with me, but not with both of us. She's telling me to buzz off.

I'm wondering why she is being crotchety when she has refused to eat much the last few days. A family member had a birthday yesterday and well, we kinda-sorta had ice cream and cake over several days, so EM is full of what she prefers: sweets. Of course she doesn't want real food.

Our new aide is good, though, coaxing "Mum" into eating one more bite of breakfast egg, one more spoonful of soup at lunch.

When it is time for her to leave, she says goodbye, I'll see you tomorrow, and mom says,

"Is that a promise or a threat?"

"A promise or a threat!" Our new CNA, Gloria, laughs.

Her eyes sparkle and I know she's going to work out fine.