Saturday, December 29, 2007

I can't think of a title for this post because they all sound like my mom's dying, but she's not (e.g. "Saying goodbye to mom," "Letting mom go home")


My mother left today to go back home to her retirement community. She's 82 years old, and doing remarkably well: she walked across Paris with me during the transport strike; she's talking about going to Istanbul with the elderly pack of "teenagers" she runs around with; she reads, goes to plays, symphonies, the opera. But there are also small signs that tell me she's no longer precisely who she was - mainly that she is more easily confused and dithering. Also, when she's in new situations she's uncertain,nervous, and dependent. My mother, who, by stubbornness and will, got the hell out of the stultifying debutante South and lived all over Asia; who, during my childhood, dealt calmly with snakes in the bathroom, coup d'etats behind our house, rioters destroying our possessions; who, when she and my father moved to Beijing right after Nixon established relations, worked in a Chinese factory as part of her language studies. It's very hard for me to see this woman even momentarily lost and confused. it whispers to me of decline, death.

Before my father died two-and-a-half years ago, I didn't truly believe that my parents would ever die. I mean, I knew it, in the way you know the sun will someday go cold; it would happen, but in a great distant future that had no real relevance to me. Which was, of course, especially stupid because my father had Parkinson's - an incurable degenerative disease- for fourteen years before he died. But, somehow, my fairy tale mind held on to a happy ending. So it shook me hard when he went into a sudden, steep decline and died.

Well, now I know better, and every moment with my mother feels incredibly precious. But, simultaneously, she's still just my mom - who gets on my nerves, whose nerves I get on. Nobody can push my buttons more than she can, and I expect I can do some extreme button buzzing myself. She loves me, loves my kids, and after a visit, loves to go back to her calm, orderly retirement community four hours away. I understand it. And yet it bugs the shit out of me because I want to have every minute of her that is left. But, of course, she just wants to be herself, and I have to let her, don't I? Even if she's 82, fragile and dithery, I have to let her focus on living. And I have to try to not focus on her, someday, dying. But every small goodbye, now - even, "Bye. Call me when you get home so I'll know you made it safely." - reminds me of the big goodbye and makes it hard, makes me sad, to let her go.

17 comments:

pat said...

What a dense and nuanced reflection on dealing with one's parents long after you've left the nest. I spend a lot of my blog time writing about being a parent, but man, it's still so complicated sorting out your feelings about your own folks. They're just not supposed to be mortal. It's mortifying to see them weak or scared. Really shakes the foundations.
But it's so excellent that you travel with her. She sounds a bit like my own moms. Who, of course, will never pass.

(BTW: Here's wishing you a very Merry (late) Christmas, and a Happy New Year!!)

Will said...

Saying goodbye to your father was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. But at the same time, it was a blessing, because I was able to say what I need to say. I still remember very clearly dragging my ass out of bed and walking through their door at 4AM and seeing my grandfather for the last time. It was something that I was a little prepared for - each time we left to fly back to CA in the couple years or so before he died, I was always paranoid that something might happen suddenly and he might be gone before we could get back out there. But, it is what it is, and I'm glad that I had the guts to do the right thing even though it was the hardest.

I hope that if faced with the kind of challenge he faced so honorably, that I can stand up to it like he did.

Concerning your mom, I KNOW I've got the coolest grandmother ever. Her friends are great, and I'm really glad she's got a small community of people who enjoy the same things that she does. I'm not worried about her at all though; she always told me that our family lives for a long time, and that I need to brush my teeth because I don't want to be a toothless old man. There's no question in my mind that she'll be around to see my kids grow up (hell, she'll prolly be around to see "Thing 4" have kids). Nothing keeps her down. Maybe I subscribe to the same sun cooling idea you mentioned earlier. So what. I can't think of anyone more deserving of that than her.

W

Elizabeth said...

Pat: Thanks. Thinking about your comment made me realize that my feelings toward my mother, now, are probably very much like what her feelings toward me were when I was a teenager. ( She'd get a kick out of that. I was a handful.)

Well, of course your mom will live on and on and on....
Hope you all had a merry Christmas yourselves.

Will: it meant so much to Mama (and, I'm sure, to Daddy) that you made that effort. She mentions it often to me - how good and sweet and filial you were.

I felt the same way every time I left their place - always thinking, 'Will this be the last time I kiss him goodbye, hear his voice?' And, finally, it was. The next time I came, the bed was empty and he was gone. Makes me cry just thinking about it. Better stop. "Thing 4" is in the room and she'll freak if Mommy's upset. She's sweet and tender hearted, just like you.

I truly know, in my head, that Mama will be fine for a long time to come. Thinking of her charging off to Istanbul with her posse of retirees just makes me smile. But after Daddy died, I figured out that "for a long time" is not the same as forever. What can I say? I'm a slow learner.
xoxo E

more cowbell said...

I'm sure this post will touch everyone who reads it. My parents live across the country from me - I feel very conflicted about it, as I purposely chose not to live there, due to concerns about raising my own kids in that part of the country. My parents are pretty young, compared to the parents of other people my age, but Mom has MS, and Daddy,who's actually in good health, turned up with diabetes (which Mom pretty much kicked in the ass by becoming the Kitchen Commandant) and recently had thyroid surgery. I'm in A&D mode - Avoidance & Denial. I can't let myself think about it too much.

Your mom sounds like a real character, and a strong woman who's still leading a strong and full life. I wouldn't mind her starting a blog before her travels to Istanbul with her posse.

Elizabeth said...

cowbell: The A & D method worked really well for me for a long time. I mourn its passing. But there's no perfect answer to this kind of problem, is there?

"Kitchen Commandant" - another Cowbellism to add to my growing list. I read the term "ass hat" somewhere recently, completely unconnected to your blog, and thought of you....

sageweb said...

I must be in avoidance & Denial phase, I honestly never have thought about it. Don't want to either. That is so sweet how you speak of your Mom.

Elizabeth said...

Sageweb: Stick with avoidance and denial because, no matter how prepared you try to be for the death of a parent, it's going to whomp you big time upside the head. So you might as well enjoy yourself up until it's time to get head whomped.

Hmmm. Something's different about your face today.... did you get new buttons for your eyes?

Boy About Town said...

When I was in Paris with friends 1 of them took 1 look at the Lourve (sp) and proclaimed "we should be able to get through this in about an hour" ! She was not into walking! She was 22yrs old! Tell your mama that I would walk with her accross all of France!! You should be so proud of her! I hope I can be like her at half her age! Tell her Boy said Go Girl!

Elizabeth said...

Boy: I am proud of her. She's a complete champ. I love the idea of saying, "You GO girl!" to my 82 year old mother. I'm not sure she'd have any idea what I was talking about. But she does go, and keep on going.

Willym said...

Elizabeth I wont' go into anything deep or a remenisance of my own farewells to either of my parents. I'll just say that I am touched and moved by what you have written. Love is an incredible thing.

Elizabeth said...

Willym: Thanks. In the end, love's the only thing, isn't it?

more cowbell said...

And may I just add that I am honored that you think of me every time you read "ass hat". I think. I hope that also applies to "ass clown".

Elizabeth said...

cowbellisms I love: "Asshat," "assclown," "kitchen commendant" "Teen demon" "older than Methusela's ass." The list could go on and on. Own it girl. Be proud.

Paul said...

This is such a lovely post! I think and feel the same things as I see my Mom, who is 76, start to slow down or move a little more gingerly. But, she is very happy and doing whenever it is that makes her happy (playing the slot machines in Atlantic city, to name one). I'm taking her to NYC for her very first time in a couple of weeks. I'm a little concerned about her walking, but I know we can stop whenever we need to, and I have saved my pennies for the taxis. Thank you for this post.

Elizabeth said...

Paul: Thanks for the comment. It sounds like you'll have a wonderful time in NYC with your mother. And as you said, it's easy there to find a place to sit and rest, easy to catch a cab. And you'll also always have the memory of that time together.

mumbliss said...

Dear e-beth,
Funny, I immediatly saw this as a "follow that lady " kind of picture. Follow the leader, follow Sara, cause there is a wonderful adventure ahead, or at least a great story or fun observation. HOWEVER, When I see pictures like this of my father or my parents, who are clearly aging, and becoming more important to me every day, I have the same kind of shakedown moment you have. I feel the horrible loss that reverberates in the moment of realization, a panic at the walk of mortality, the "I can't keep up", "I can't stop this". I feel a knife cut of sorrow begin that I don't want to feel and I have to get busy really quickly.
With your mother, who lives in my life at a younger time and in small brave bits,I can more easily dance or run, or walk behind her, expecting to catch up and talk or see something together (probably with you or your father or even Kirk or one of your brothers). I guess I have to plan some visits soon. Real life is too precious, even when memory is a a trunkful of treasure. My heart is full of love for each of you. Thank you for doing this. I love the warmth of being so close to you and your life, even when it is mostly one way. I am out here and grateful that you are doing this crazy cyber talkthink thing.

Elizabeth said...

I love that you're there on the other end of this weird cyber talk/think thing. Maybe I should bring my mother up to Boston for an in-country gallavant. There's a thought.
xo Ebizaleth