Mission Accomplished

Back in October, while my Mom was still in rehab recovering from a fall that has left her in need of supervision 24/7...my sister decided that the only way to keep Mom home was if she moved in with her. Her presence and a patchwork of willing souls who come in every day to help out so she can keep working, have given Mom this past winter, the gift of staying in her home. To me, my sister's decision to move in seemed huge...too big in fact and I became concerned about her mental state...and offered to come to Mass. every other weekend to sit with Mom so Sue could have some free time to call her own. Every other weekend felt like the least I could do...a piece of cake...after all, I could drive home. I'm always amazed at my mind. It's very quick to jump to conclusions both positive and negative. Before the winter I figured Mom was on her way out. Now she seems stronger...her humor is quick and though she gets confused when she gets up from her chair...she is sharp as a tack when she is sitting in her spot in the TV room. She's like a bird stitched into her environment...perched for flight but comfortable in her favorite tree. I also eventually realized that I had some concern for my own mental state and was projecting my version of reality onto both my Mom and sister. Being torn in half, that was my status for the winter. I flew down to Mass. on a Friday and returned to Maine on a Monday afternoon. As time ticked on, it took me longer and longer to get back into the rhythm of my own life here in Maine before it was time yet again to drive south. I wonder how well I truly know myself. The first stretch I spent in Salem was a 10 day stint right when she came home from rehab. I worked my artfelt landscape...a winter sunset view of looking out my kitchen window with the pink sky reflected in the pink water of the river...a frozen image yet rendering it in wool gave it texture and warmth. I quickly realized that I could sit for hours and even talk while working on the felting. I fell in love with the process. Meanwhile, as I sat with my mother, every hour was marked by the call of a bird from the Audobon bird clock I gave her years ago. The calls never corresponded to the hours and we would laugh and make jokes about owl time or chickadee time. I recalled the clock that we had as children in the kitchen of our home in Beverly Farms. It was a fascination to me because it was a village with houses and people and mountains and stuck to the second hand was a tiny train that passed through a tunnel as it made its way around the circle of life. As a child, I had a terrible fear of being late for school. It had much to do with the woman who was my scary witch-like second grade teacher who would point her fingers at us kids and yell DEAD DUCK if we were out of step with the rest of the class. I would watch the clock obsessing about being late for school to the point where my Dad actually took it down from the wall in the morning before we left for school. I loved and hated that clock...even though I remember it with great affection. The train whistled at certain times too. We had a real train that passed our house at the boundary of the back yard. I listen to one now as it blows its signal and passes through town. Anyway...my lifestyle is very moving...I don't sit long and I spend hours outdoors everyday. The cold is tolerable to a point where most folks would think me immune. As I sat each weekend with Mom, I began felting birds like the one April gave me for Christmas...the chickadee. It was a kit. I'd never even heard of felting before so I began doing research about the history of felting and due to the prohibitive price of kits, I set out to make my own squares and draw my own birds. Each bird now hold memories of conversations I had with my Mom or sister. I opted to arrange the patches in a circle because of the bird clock that chimed a Hoot Hoot Hoot...or some other call to mark the hour. The sound of felting often made Mom drowsy in the afternoons but it kept me busy and sane...and I thank goodness I had the foresight to bring the handiwork with me. I would have gone stir crazy I believe. As much as I love my Mom, I find her life of sitting isn't good for me. And by the time I returned to Maine...I had a backlog of unmoved energy that I needed to deal with or poor Stevo got some outfall. Thank goodness he was watching over me. He noticed my stress before I did. By mid February he was insisting I cut down on my trips to Salem. I made the decision to cut down to one visit a month beginning in April. I completed my promise of everyother weekend through the winter. I grew some self awareness and was successful at fulfilling a commitment. I also learned that it is not an easy task for a daughter to take care of her aging mother because the care comes out of the crevaces of hardened places in the heart. It seeps through the cold and ice that lies like a blanket of snow over the river in Winter...melted by the present moment of cherishing the time we have together, the love trickles into a flow despite the burdensome baggage of a lifetime of perceptions and feelings. I discovered I still held disappointment in my mother...anger at her...and I was forced to sit with it while focusing of bird forms and the promise of a returning spring. Those birds helped me stay above the petty angers in my old suitcase of despair and helped me realize the beauty and freedom of choosing to find love and forgiveness in the the presence of my mothers love. I realize now...it is never too late to love and to forgive, until a person is gone. Now my mission is accomplished. My promise was kept and Mother Nature will keep her promise. The birds will return and the frozen landscape will become green and alive with Eagles, geese, ducks and all manner of songbirds...and when my Mom is gone, I will put my blanket over my shoulders to stay warm in my heart and remember the time we had together when nothing but love flowed freely between us.