Friday, December 02, 2005

scenes from purgatory ~ part two


Outside in the hallway, Mom is instructed to propel herself as far as she can by rotating the wheels on her chair manually, as part of her upper body work.

Alongside her is a set of parallel bars where a tall, dignified woman is making her painful way down the length of the ramp. Mom turns to peer up at her before beginning her own course, and they both struggle along at a snail’s pace. Watching from behind, it is a slow motion marathon taking place between a heron and a gnome.

Suddenly, without raising her head from her progress, my mother announces to no one in particular, “She doesn’t know it, but we’re having a race, and I’m gonna WIN!” Everyone in the hallway breaks up, including her startled rival. Leaning against a wall, I’m laughing so hard it brings tears to my eyes.

Back in her room, after the nurse has put her in bed, each little shift of the sheets brings pain and moaning and she begs, again, for more medication. “You see, I do try, don’t I?” she says, peering up at me.

She tells me about how she hates to wake up in the morning; that when she opens her eyes she feels only wretched disappointment. “I pray to die,” she says. “Why am I still here?” I tell her that she’s here for me.

“Because it’s all about me, Mom. I’m not ready to let you go. None of us are.” I half believe this; that I am keeping her here against her will. That I somehow have this much power in the universe, and that I am using it unwisely. She gives me a ghost of a smile. “There is such a thing as living too long, you know.”

I stay with her until she becomes quiet, long after visiting hours are over. When I leave, I tell her I’ll see her in the morning. “Just call,” she says. “In the night, when I wake up, I feel like I don’t know who I am. Like I’m adrift. Alone….you know?”

I tell her I know. Alone in the dark, caught halfway between restless dreams and an unwelcome dawn, it’s easy to become untethered ~ adrift in the existential void. To forget who you are. I do know. But I don’t want to.

“I just feel lost” she says, “until someone calls.”

7 comments:

Cynthia said...

It's hard to capture hell with charm but you do. I'd like to say you're in my thoughts and prayers but it seems so trite and insignificant, compared to what y'all are experiencing now. For what it's worth though, you are.

Lisa :-] said...

I'm sorry, Gig. This sounds all too familiar...and heartbreaking. Love to you and your mom... Lisa :-]

Anonymous said...

Would that we had any power at all over living or dying.

Had Aesop lived long enough to tell the tale of the race between the heron and the gnome, he could not have done it any better.

I don't know whose pain is greater, that of the gnome or the one who loves her so much it hurts.

Oh, Gidge.

Why am I crying like a baby?

Globetrotter said...

It's very sad, when people get to this point. Especially when they are people that belong to US.

NO, we don't want to let them go but I do believe that that is selfish of us.

If I wanted to die, I would want people to respect my wishes.

Sometimes enough is enough, no matter that the parting will be sorrowful for those that love us.

I'm sorry you are going through so much turmoil. Peace.

Judith HeartSong said...

oh... there are no words for what you both are coping with.... I am glad you can be there for her.

V said...

Beautifully written, Gigi.
Hugs & Prayers.
V

Paul said...

The heron on the parallel bars and the gnome in the chair...that image will stay with me for a long time.

The gnome retains her awareness of the appeal of her own charm and aged beauty, and a bit of competitive fire. these are things to live for.