My Heavy Heart

I spoke with my mom today.  It was the first time I've spoken to her in a while, I am ashamed to admit.  My daughter spoke to her last week and I thought my mom would want her to pass the phone but she just said good-bye.

I was so sad.  She called me to ask what time it was.  She thought we set the clocks ahead last night but wasn't sure so she had only changed one.  I'm pretty sure my heart cracked right in half. 

I have been avoiding her.  I am not proud of that.  I just don't have answers and when I talk to her I feel this overwhelming need to fix her.  I don't know how.  I feel like my hands are tied because there are so many extenuating factors and I can't control them.  I get frustrated; with her confusion, with my confusion, with the whole situation.

She has lowered the price on her home in Florida again.  It HAS to sell!  Once we can get her to Connecticut, I feel like things will be easier.  There will be more of us at close proximity to help her.  She needs help, desperately.

I envision her alone, confused, not even knowing what time it is.  She knows my daughter is an Irish dancer and she was asking if she was excited for this weekend and her long day of dancing.  She had no idea St. Patrick's Day isn't until next week. 

I have been to her place a couple of times now and I can see her there.  Somehow, I wish I couldn't.  I wish I couldn't see my tiny little mom, withering away to an even smaller version of herself.  I wish I couldn't see her watching a tv show last night and falling asleep only to wake up at 8:30 p.m. and realize she missed bingo.  She was so disappointed.  She told me she looks so forward to that all week and she couldn't understand how she could fall asleep and miss it.

I want to say to her, because you are 80 years old.  Because your body and your mind are tired and just want to rest now.  Because you have 80 years worth of living running through your 80 year old brain and it's wearing down.  Because at the end nothing is as it was and everything is harder than it should be.

I don't say these things.  I make her laugh.  I tell her some dumb thing I did or am thinking of doing.  She knows me well enough to know things don't always quite work out how I envision them.  I tell her how happy I am and how well my husband and kids are.  I tell her my life is beautiful and make her laugh again at some silly story involving the kids or my farm qualifying amount of pets.  I try to bring her peace for that short time we are on the phone.  I try to make her forget her problems for a little while and remember there is life outside of her little house and that her legacy is busy enjoying it. 


Then I hang up that phone and vow to be a better daughter and not avoid her.  I vow to be a better mother and wife and friend.  I remember that so many things that seem so monumentally important right now really don't matter so very much after all.