Day After Day

It takes little effort for me to bring forward the emotions I felt as a child when I had to be away from my mother for any length of time. My need to be with her, to have her in my sight, was more than strong, it was a necessity for me. Perhaps it was more my need for the familiar. My longing to be surrounded by the known, the comfortable. I still have that to some extent.

I want my mother home. Not simply home in her house but home in her. I want her memory restored. I want her restored. I want to go home. When I stopped in to see her this afternoon the picture that rests on top of her television, a picture of her with her beloved sister, was not there. I asked her where it was but she didn't appear to know what I was talking about. As my daughter engaged her in conversation I looked through her drawers and discovered the picture. Tucked in a bag with a few candy bars, a pair of socks and some tissues. She chose these precious items to have ready. To be prepared to go home. In preparation for and in search of a return to the known.

I sat in church this morning and as I rested in the company of my friends surrounded by the stone and stained glass of my church home I was aware that one of the things I miss the most is the known, the expected, the routine. In the same way I anticipate the next note in the hymn because I've heard it so many times, sung it so often, I need to know what comes next. I don't know the next note in our journey with my mother. I cannot anticipate what comes next and that leaves me ill prepared, uneasy.

The next steps will come to us, but they will come only as we take them. But we take them with friends and family to support us. Friends and family who love us and love her. The emotions stir and the uncertainty rests in my chest but I make my way through the days, the days away from my mother and try to take comfort in the known, the routine of my life and hope that she is able to do the same.