Dear Mom,
How are ya?
I visited you last week. You don’t know who I am, but I know who you are.
You are loving. You are strong. You are quirky, unique, and funny.
Life is different for you now. You don’t understand all that’s going on around you, and that’s frustrating. But sometimes you’re alert and you’ll raise an eyebrow and squinch up one side of your face like you used to do when making a joke. “Su-re,” you say in two sarcastic syllables in response to nothing in particular. We point things out in your environment—the Christmas song on the radio, the shivering trees outside, the beauty of flowers in a photograph. You may or may not react. That’s OK. You can just ease into each moment.
That’s what I wish you now: comfort, joy, and ease. A rocking chair on a porch of life. You’ve fought hard against a disease that’s plagued you for decades. Now is your time to rest. Let God ease you into his Sabbath rest.
I was surprised you could still watercolor. Yes, it takes some deft finger gymnastics for your caregiver. But you love the colors, the composition, the swoosh of the brush. It’s thrilling to see you so engaged.
And when we sing—oh, how your face lights up. You shape about every third line, the echoes of joyous choruses around camp fires. Muscle and music memory re-engaging like grooves in a record. Your mind knows this track. Let the needle bob along every nook. Joy is yours again.
You nod at the end of the Lord’s Prayer. “How nice,” you whisper. Yes, you’ve said it thousands of times. Now we must lead you in it, but your brain still follows its path.
You still have greetings and goodbyes. That’s all we really have in terms of conversation. Maybe it’s enough.
I don’t really want to say a goodbye.
You gave me my first hello.
When you’re ready, we’ll say a type of goodbye. More like a “see you later.” We’ll have eternity for plenty of other greetings. We’ll ask each other again and again, “How are ya?” And the answer will always be, “good.”
With love,
Your daughter
