Mom & Me Four Archive

    I let Mom sleep in. She coughed at 1430. Although she was slow getting around, I was cruising. We meshed well. I could tell she was slow, no wonder, I haven't been dashing her about, here, lately; in good spirits, though.
    She finished off breakfast about 1530 and lolled at the dining table with her magazines and her Detox tea. Her thirst appeared to have kicked in and she was regulating her fluids well by herself this morning, so I didn't have to mention, at all, anything about drinking this or that.
    At 1615 I announced to Mom that I finished all the chores while she lounged over tea and tabloids. "I've even finished your bed!" I announced, to highlight how spectacular this change in chore business was.
    "Well," she said, giving me a sly look, "I guess I'll have to go try it out." I could see she was bracing herself for an negative onslaught.
    "Well, let me go turn on the oxygen. Stay here for a minute, I'll help you up, or, if you're faster than me, I'll meet you in the bathroom."
    I think I caught her steadying herself from falling off the chair. "Don't you think it's too early?"
    I met her head on. "Do you?"
    She looked around as though expecting someone to coach her. "Well, no..."
    "There's your answer."
    I believe she almost tripped over herself, heading for the bathroom before I changed my mind. While we were in the bathroom she said, twice, as I supervised the change in undergarments, "I'll be taking a nap in these, you know."
    "I know," I assured her.
    "I guess I'd better not dally about taking advantage of this chance!"
    I grinned at her. "You'd better not. You never know, with all this sun, when I might harness you and throw the plow behind you!"
    So, she's back in bed. Probably napping hard and fast before I change my mind and haul her out of bed.

    We had an interesting discussion over breakfast this morning. We were talking about tomorrow being the beginning of a new year, 2007. We mulled this over as we picked at our food.
    Mom looked up at me and said, "That makes me 90, doesn't it?!?"
    Wow. She can always remember what year she was born, but doesn't relate it to much, anymore. "Yeah, it does."
    We thought about this.
    "So, Mom," I ventured, "did you imagine, when you were much younger, a kid, maybe a young adult, that you'd live to be 90?"
    No hesitation. "Oh, goodness yes. At least."
    Well, she was right about that. I was curious. "Did you assume you'd see 100?"
    She hemmed and hawed about this. "Yes, I think so."
    Do you think you're going to make 100 now? That's 10 years away," I reminded her.
    Her face immobilized into placidity. Her eyes focused somewhere just above and beyond my head. Although they remained open, they appeared to be running an internal scan, perhaps of body parts, perhaps of will, spirit. She didn't look at me for a moment when she stated, "Yes." I think she was looking at the year.
    Do I think my mother will live to be 100? No. But, then, when she was 75 I didn't think she'd see 85. Do I want my mother to live to be 100? No. Although I might be wrong, from what I know of her health and her personal trajectory, if she lived for another 10 years I foresee that lots of those years would be spent in some sort of institutional confinement, for one reason or another. She does not mind confining herself to her home and at least one loved one, but she does not like being confined by formal institutions. It is a peculiar gift of mine that I have not bothered, day by month by year, to project into the future in regard to this journey I'm on with my mother. Others, though, might not consider this a gift. But, then, others are not making a home with her.
    Selfishly, I do not want to be doing this when I am 65. I can barely imagine being alive at 65, but, then, when I was in my 20's I imagined 40 but assumed I'd be dead by 50, so, I don't know, I hear it's surprising up there. This certainly is. I can only imagine the surprises my mother has already negotiated and might continue to negotiate. I imagine I have been privy to only half of them. Those have been pretty amazing.
    At any rate, she fell into reality earlier today, but was securely in another reality when she headed for her bedroom: She was asking if "[Dead Brother's Name] and Dad [my dad, apparently] had made it back in time for dinner." Since I wasn't sure, I said I didn't know. That seemed to satisfy her.
    So, I'm thinking I'll watch a movie. I picked up a second hand copy of Magnolia today and am anxious to see if I respond the same to Tom Cruise's character now that my hormones have settled waaaaay down. I didn't dislike him, before, I was surprised by Cruise's facility with the character. But, I'm seeing things from a markedly different perspective, now, and I'm wondering how that will affect a viewing of this movie.
    Later.