We enter her room. It’s dark and sad. She’s in her wheelchair, back to the door, watching CNN’s election coverage on closed caption. My first thought is, “Why is she watching this?” “Doesn’t she know there is a Bruins game on?” My parents met at a Bruins game back in the early 70’s. They never missed a game on TV.
I smile and gently say, “Hi Mom.” She looks at me with a blank stare, and an awkward smile. My heart dashes to my throat. I have seen that look before. My maternal grandmother had Alzheimer’s. I say to my son, “Jackson, do you want to say hello to Nana Leavey?” He sheepishly says, “Hi Nana Leavey.” Excitedly, my mother says, “Did you say Jackson?” “My grandson’s name is Jackson!” My husband shoots a concerned glance my way. I pull back the hood on my son’s raincoat, brush his hair to the side making his face more visible to her; and say, “Mom, this is your grandson, Jackson.” She is silent. I can see her mind searching to make sense of it all. Then she looks at my husband and says, “So are you Brian?”
I quickly turn the conversation to Jackson. “Jackson, why don’t you tell Nana what you are going to be for Halloween.” He obliges with delight. However, he wants Nana to guess what he is going to be for Halloween. He is 4 and everything is turned into a guessing game these days. He has her guessing his favorite color, animal, and drink, too. At this moment I am thankful for the guessing game- it allows me more time to think of the next thing I am going to say to keep the conversation alive, and the awkwardness at bay.
I can see the end of an era nearing.
As we are leaving, I wonder how much time she has left. I can see the end of an era nearing. My brothers and I no longer have any grandparents alive- we haven’t for years. Our Dad passed on 6 years ago; and our extended family on both sides are busy with their own families and haven’t reached out to any of us in years. I thank my lucky stars for my husband’s family. They have taken me in as one of their own and even invite my brothers for the holidays.
never called us to check in and see how we were all doing. For over 2 weeks I sat around with a newborn preemie, waiting for my Mommy to call me like a wounded little girl -as I was figuring out how to do this whole Mommy thing myself.
And, in the end- all that’s left is LOVE.
On the ride home my husband breaks the heavy silence and says, ” After seeing your mom today, all my animosity toward her just melted away and now all I feel is empathy.”
I recently read the memoir, Love Warrior by Glennon Doyle Melton. In the book Glennon mentions that the word crisis is derived from the word that means- to sift. She suggests ( I am paraphrasing here) that when dealing with a crisis, you sift through all the pain and hurt; and whatever is left over- is all that really matters.
I am still working on Sifting the hurt. However, after this recent visit I can see more clearly that my sifting is coming to an end.
And, in the end- all that’s left is LOVE.
Love, Joy, Truth, Gratitude-
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