Monday, March 21, 2005
Mom walked around the yard, today...
...slowly, complaining about her right knee until I convinced her to let me slip the elastic brace on it. With a few sit stops, aided by me carrying her oxygen, she did it. Funny how it happened. I'd spent a few more hours going through boxes, still looking for the rest of our documents for taxes (maybe I'll get them out tomorrow) and became so frustrated and anxious that I felt as though I needed to work some of it off in the yard. I headed out while Mom was napping with a saw in one hand, a branch clipper in the other and a roll of orange plumber's tape in my pocket to mark sibling elms for death. I spent a little over three hours chopping, marking, felling, hauling and surveying in preparation for Mr. Everything's first work detail this coming Saturday. It's been awhile since I've worked in the yard. I'd forgotten how refreshing both the work and our property are. Just as I returned to the house, Mom was arising from her nap. I was energized by my stint on our property and couldn't help gushing about our property and my plans for it. I directed her to the back Arcadia door so she could see the orange tags on the threes and how the back of our property was beginning to open up from the removal of the saplings and branches I was able to handle. I wasn't sure that what I was pointing out to her was making much of an impression but after her lunch she slapped her hands on her thighs and said, "I think I'll go out and take a look around. It's been awhile since I've seen what's going on out there."
She didn't want to use her walker or her oxygen. I consented on the walker, figuring she'd be fine with my support, but insisted on the oxygen. Once we stepped outside she insisted on a complete survey of both the front and back except for the wild part. She noticed the one surviving rose; the tiny buds on our hardy, indigenous tree bordering the street; the dead branches on the ornamental plum out front; how far our irises have spread and how close some of them are to sending up bloom shoots; how spongy the ground is; she picked out a perfect place for a backyard "park bench"; asked me to point out the trail of our wash; pointed out yard trash as though I hadn't already noted it and asked almost indignantly if I was "planning on doing anything about that stuff". I let her dictate the length of our tour; she lasted for about 45 minutes before she decided it was time to come in. I was surprised, in part because, although it was sunny today in our area, I doubt the high reached much above 50.
After our trek, after Mom had relaxed for a bit in her rocker and warmed her hands (I should have ignored her refusal of gloves when I was layering her for our walk) around a cup of fresh, hot coffee, she began an uncharacteristic rhapsody about our home up here and our property. As her praise wound down I said, "Well, it sounds like you're glad, now, that we sold the other home in favor of keeping this one."
She shot me a look of surprise. "What other home?!?"
"The mobile home in Mesa." I noticed recognition flood her face and I thought, uh oh, here it comes. "Are you sorry," I said, "that we sold that house for this one?"
"No," she said, surprising me. "That was just a mobile home. This is our home."
Whoa.
We've lost a lot in the last year: Some by decision, some by sad surprise, some by the simple attrition of time and health that is the nature of life. I can't help but feel, though, that some of our best days are ahead of us, in part because of some of those losses, and in part because my hopes for my mother and I are high.
Good night, moonshine.
She didn't want to use her walker or her oxygen. I consented on the walker, figuring she'd be fine with my support, but insisted on the oxygen. Once we stepped outside she insisted on a complete survey of both the front and back except for the wild part. She noticed the one surviving rose; the tiny buds on our hardy, indigenous tree bordering the street; the dead branches on the ornamental plum out front; how far our irises have spread and how close some of them are to sending up bloom shoots; how spongy the ground is; she picked out a perfect place for a backyard "park bench"; asked me to point out the trail of our wash; pointed out yard trash as though I hadn't already noted it and asked almost indignantly if I was "planning on doing anything about that stuff". I let her dictate the length of our tour; she lasted for about 45 minutes before she decided it was time to come in. I was surprised, in part because, although it was sunny today in our area, I doubt the high reached much above 50.
After our trek, after Mom had relaxed for a bit in her rocker and warmed her hands (I should have ignored her refusal of gloves when I was layering her for our walk) around a cup of fresh, hot coffee, she began an uncharacteristic rhapsody about our home up here and our property. As her praise wound down I said, "Well, it sounds like you're glad, now, that we sold the other home in favor of keeping this one."
She shot me a look of surprise. "What other home?!?"
"The mobile home in Mesa." I noticed recognition flood her face and I thought, uh oh, here it comes. "Are you sorry," I said, "that we sold that house for this one?"
"No," she said, surprising me. "That was just a mobile home. This is our home."
Whoa.
We've lost a lot in the last year: Some by decision, some by sad surprise, some by the simple attrition of time and health that is the nature of life. I can't help but feel, though, that some of our best days are ahead of us, in part because of some of those losses, and in part because my hopes for my mother and I are high.
Good night, moonshine.
