The Guns of Navarone

 I have been in Charlotte, NC for most of January.  I am staying with, and potentially moving my mom who lives in an assisted living facility.  I'm exhausted and hungry and I feel like I on an emotional elevator that only stops only at the penthouse, then abruptly falls to the basement.  Then goes back up.  And down. 

My mom is/was fun, generally happy, entertaining and never afraid to speak her mind.   I got this attribute from her and have struggled to be more gracious and diplomatic in my declarations.  I am not sure if I have succeeded. 

It is excrutiating to watch her die.  It has been fascinating as well.  

It is excrutiating to see this pillar of warmth and kindness and strength wilt away.  She has been my shrink, my support, my alter ego and my friend my whole life.  

She has been direct and simple when she thought that my decisions were poor (this rarely changed anything, to be honest, I just felt a little less sure in pursuing my own ends). 

It is excruciating to think that I will no longer be a daughter, which is the only position in my life in which I almost feel young.  Or certainly younger than I ever would without my mom.  I fear that when she passes away that I will age, in my heart, 20 years overnight. 

What has been fascinating is the strength of the body vs the strength of the heart and soul.   The strongest, most fit body is absolutely nothing without a warm heart and a loving soul.  

My mom has weighed less than 79 pounds since September.  She has virtually no muscle.  She eats little and subsists on (now) eight litres of oxygen per hour.   Inside she is still a tiger, however.  Hospice told me that this is why she is still alive.  Because she feels love and still has the need to give love.  Once this ends, so will her life.  

Shortly after Thursday night's morphine dose, she asked me if I wanted to hear about her first date with my father.  They grew up in the same neighborhood, so I knew many stories, but apparently not the first date. 

"It was July 1961 and we went to see The Guns of Navarone at a local drive in theatre." My mom was 20 years old and home from Denison for the summer.  My dad was 30, living in NYC, and was home for a few days. 

"Your dad came to pick me up in his convertible.  I was just about to come out of the house in shorts when my mother came into the house saying, "you better put a dress on, he is wearing a suit and tie." 

My mom turned to her mother and asked "who the hell wears a suit and tie to a drive-in movie in July?" 

The rest is history.  

Her eyes were closing as she told the story.  I tucked her in and told her to think of how it felt to be 20 and on that date with my dad.  She went to sleep with a smile on her face. 


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