My Mother.

I just returned from a trip to ma and pa's house out in Spokane, Washington.  No, I am not originally from Spokane, I am from the Bay, but my folks moved there after pa returned from his job mining gold in Saudi Arabia (a story for another time).

The Sun and I go to the p's house in the summer and winter of each year.  it used to be quarterly, until tre got to an age when he needed to be around other children and he didn't yet know anyone in the neighborhood.  Now he has lots of friends and adores going to gramma's house, as it should be.

My mother is an amazing human being - and y'all know i don't use that word in a care-free fashion.  Amazing is an amazing word that deserves to be used to describe amazing stuff.  Like many mother-daughter, we have not always had an easy relationship.  I feel grateful to be able to call my mother my closest ally in this lifetime.  The key for me is being willing to go deep with my mom, at ever-deepening levels, into my own vulnerability, into my own scary, magic, wild, unpredictable, being-ness.  It is where my power is, but it is also dangerous territory.  The risk of annihilation feels ever-present, and inner-rebellion is at a shaky truce - balance is delicate and is also key. 

My mom married at 21 and had my brother Eric when she was 23.  About a year after my brother was born, it was time for another, and they tried for a while, but my mother did not conceive.  A decision was made to adopt and after I came to live with them at 9 months of age, my sister arrived 7 months later.  So visually, my sibs and me are like those backwards oreo cookies - which i don't think ever really took off.  Ironically, "oreo cookie" was one of many descriptor names given to kids born of my ilk.  Either way, my position on oreo cookies - in whatever form - is that they are best eaten in their component parts...its just a preference, people, it's not a requirement, nor is it some sort of political statement.  It's just a preference. 

My mom and I went through all manner of mother/daughter battles, but what I really appreciated about my mother was that I felt like i could come to her for anything.  I didn't always take advantage of that, but i knew she was there.  And I can still come to her for anything - and I do...sometimes.  Everyone has their edge.

A few years ago, my mother bought a new mattress for her and my dad.  When she was telling me about it, she mentioned how long it was expected to last "about 10 years, and you know your father and I aren't likely to live much beyond that."  It was the first time their mortality was made real to me in a really, really real way.

Not that i went out and purchased plots or anything.  It's more that the reality of their death has opened up in me a deeper way to appreciate each and every trip we are granted.  Each moment, each memory is so sweet.  And I know it's the same for them. 

My mother and I have never had a physically close relationship.  I just couldn't, just could NOT get close to another caregiver...get close to another mommy-like being only to face another betrayal at its deepest human level?  Nope, hands off the small being.  And that went for virtually everyone, not just my mom. 

At 75, my mother has many physical aliments, one of them being her feet.  Her goddamn feet.  The one body part she adored and took such good care of during her life.  She went barefoot much of her life, and then she wore the "good shoes" like Birkenstocks.  Now, the bones in her feet are not cooperating and it hurts to walk!  Not to mention that she has had to witness her most treasured body part slowly turn on her.  Fuckin' aging man! 

This trip i cared for my mother's feet.  We sat in my favorite chairs (the ones that are assigned to me in the will), and I mixed some vitamin E + K oil with Bergamot oil and i gave her a foot massage.  And all through the massage I kept thinking how we ALL need to give our feet more love, more care, more attention.  So much is absorbed through our soles.

At one point during the time I had my hands on her feet, i looked up at her and her eyes were closed and I saw my mother relaxed, so relaxed.  And I was happy and sad at the same time.  Happy because I was able to relieve some of her pain through my touch, and sad because it would only be for a moment.

My mother says that quality of life is everything and I agree with her.  She has made it very clear that when her quality of life is diminished to the point beyond-beyond, to let her go.  Don't keep her hanging, just let her go.  Dad is a bit worried that mom might get trigger-happy and he has instructed us to let him linger for a while.  Check and check.

I hope there are many more years with her - I would love for her to see me free of some of my shackles and I would love to see her free of some of hers.  Most of all, I know that when my mother does die, it will be with a peace and joy in my heart about the mother she was, and is, to me. 

Until then, we will both continue to move forward with each-other, baring our hearts and souls, knowing that it's the only way through, knowing that it is love itself.