Memories lost, or memories remaining, have changed the course of my life. In a quiet moment while sitting with my mother, my mother said, “Write to release what you need to accept”. Again, I stand on the path of journey with a parent, working through the loss and the gains of what life will teach me.
Needless to say, working through caring for your parent or a loved one is not a flex, but a reminder that juggling work and family life is not an easy road. It can be full of weighing options, and those options can make or break you financially. The sleepless nights, or hazy days, it’s not easy. There can be and will be uneven roads of doubt, or am I making the right decisions, while making decisions, and sometimes you crawl the entire way, needing unseen grace and mercy from every encounter, and every person you face, each day. Life happens with quiet worry, and you have to throw your legs over your bed, plant your feet on the floor, and move about the day, whether you see glimpses of stillness or not.
Years ago, I asked my mother to meet me at work so we could have lunch, talk, and laugh, not knowing this would be the beginning of our journey. As I sat in my office wondering where she was that day, I received a call from an unknown woman, who said, “Your mother told me to call you”. In a panic, I said’ Where is she”? My mother was in a restaurant and she asked to borrow the woman’s phone. As I walked to the restaurant, I was oblivious to the fact, my mother’s journey had begun. As I was walking in fear and worry, I felt a sense of sadness, and I didn’t know why at the time.
Why was I mourning that call? Why was I grieving my mother, feeling lost? Why was I removing myself mentally from the pain of that call?
When I saw my mother, the tension eased, and I was relieved she was safe. As we walked to return to my job, I created a world that erased what happened. A world that was false in believing my mother was ok. My mother said, “I don’t know what happened, the area looks so different, so that’s why I couldn’t find the hospital where you work”. I believed every word and said, “Mom, of course, a few buildings are new, and that’s why you couldn’t find my job”. I dismissed my sister’s sharing with me months prior that our mother was forgetting the simplest things. My mother would say things such as, “I don’t remember that”, or “I don’t know who that person is”. I told my sister, mom is not forgetting, she was up late, she’s growing in age, so it’s normal, or she’s just tired.
Looking back, my heart was protecting what my mind knew, which was, time was revealing forgotten memories. To accept my mother’s journey meant I had to accept losing the stability of our lives together. I was on the losing side of our closeness and fun as mother and daughter. To accept the journey, I had to create a world of “just memories”. I couldn’t fathom my mother was just a memory, she was more than just the memory; she was and still is ever present in my life.
Memories have a way of not only shaping who we are but also where we stand in life, and my mother placed me in good standing. By that I mean, her commitment to me was beyond, she birthed me, it was the long walks and talks, it was my mother stirring a cake batter with words of wisdom and teaching me the foundation of family is the only place to stand on and stand with, teaching me that my life is her life, and our lives strongly together as a family is what storms are made for.
Time has passed from that rainy day when my mom was lost on the streets in Philadelphia, to now my mother struggling to remember who she is and who her family is. Life has a way of just consistently being life, with no way of controlling what will happen. What does it all mean? For those who are standing on the same journey, it means juggling work and life, and hoping nothing falls by the wayside. It means do I grieve what I’m losing or embrace the normalcy of life?
When I walked on the journey with my father, it was complex because of unforgiveness, I was bound in many ways to anger, and pride, and though I came to a forgiving hill, and was so thankful for my father allowing me to walk on the journey with him, I am now facing my mother’s journey with uncertainty of what our relationship will be from day to day. I ask myself, what does waiting amid forgotten memories mean? Simply, not overthinking the moments, not overly focused on every memory, being present in the here and now, allowing memories to dwindle, with no expectations.
I believe wholeheartedly I can’t lose my mother because, in all fairness, she was not given to me by God with a non-expiration date; she was lovingly given to me with a time stamp for this moment. She was, and I am created to face this moment and to walk on this journey. My mother is not who she was or even what she may have hoped to be, and accepting that is part of the journey.
Do I mourn the loss of that, or do I focus on the years I continue to be given? Part of this journey is recognizing what my mom is capable of doing and what she needs help with. As I was scrolling through social media, I came across mothers who create apartment doors for their children’s bedrooms, and I asked my mother about creating the same. I knew that on the days she struggles, she needs normalcy as well as to feel she is part of this world.
We drove to a local store, returned home, and created her space. I asked my mother, “so what is the name of your apartment door”, and she looked at me with motherly guilt and said, “123 mommies place”, and though I was heartbroken, yet excited, I could see in my mom’s face, it was not her owning her own journey, so I said, “mom what do you want” and she said, “123 Jean’s Place”, and I relented my desire to control her journey, but allowed my mother to create her own place and space of safety and hope. Her very own mailbox, a light to push on when she feels lost, and a bell we can push so we can ask permission to enter her space. I allow my mom to write and will her own narrative. I allow my mom to be part of the conversation about her life, her dislikes, and I listen to her needs from her own words. I also recognize I can’t save my mother from her journey, nor do I want to go on a “save mom mission, because I’ll miss the lesson I am to learn. All the lessons I need to grow from are still being planted, and when those lessons finally bloom, I will finally see her journey as her own. Whatever is meant to be, it will be, but it will be the journey of what my mother wants, 123 Jean’s Place!
It is the journey she is meant to live in, and I have the privilege to be there!
