Looking back...

Every January I reflect on the previous year and take stock of events, both life-altering and otherwise and decide how I fared personally. How did I cope? What could I have done differently? Could I have made things better? It sounds like a lot of second guessing doesn't it? This year, I used journals I'd written to assess my performance through the events that marked 2011. One thing is for certain, my routine has changed drastically. I'm no longer getting up at the crack of dawn, showering, having breakfast, taking my husband to the train and then heading to the seniors residence for my morning visit with my Mom. Those were precious times, as my journal entries reveal. 

"This morning her eyes were closed when I entered her room. The rustle of my jacket awakened her. I could tell it took her a second to recognize me. I helped her a little by giving her a cheery, "Hi Mom!". She reached for my hand and warmed my icy fingers in hers. "It's cold outside.", she observed. She asked why it was so cold and just as I was about to tell her there was less than a month before Christmas, her alarm clock heralded the early morning hour with "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas". We both smiled and I said, "It's nearly Christmas Mom." "Is it really?", she asked, so surprised. As though this was a first in our morning ritual." 

Reading through various journal entries lets me play a movie in my mind, frame by frame. How fortunate I was to have the time to spend with her. Although the journals I kept for Mom were pretty repetitive; telling her the day and date, what time I arrived, and what her first comments were, they weren't without purpose.

"Today is Monday, January 3, 2011. I arrived at 7:25 this morning. You were asleep until I fiddled with the lamp. The first thing you asked was what they had done to you. You thought you were in the hospital and had an operation. I told you that you are in a nursing home not a hospital. You said, "You mean I'm not sick???" I said, "Nope - just old." That seemed to make you feel better."

Then I would proceed to tell her the tasks I completed for her each morning.

"I put your teeth in and gave you a facecloth for your face, and put lotion on your knees and shoulder. I no sooner got that done when Bernice and Nadya came in to get you up. Great timing. You have fresh clothes to wear today too."

Followed by the weather report. 

"It's nice and warm outside - almost zero. Nice to have the break from the cold temperatures. Garnet has today off but is back to work tomorrow."

Everything I wrote was printed in large black letters so she could read it when I wasn't there; to reassure her that someone loved her and visited her everyday. Each entry ended the same way.

"You are living in a nursing home in Edmonton. You have a will that is fair to all and enough money to live forever. Don't worry - be happy. You are safe and I am near. I love you very much! Cathie"

Then I would draw a silly face at the bottom of the page. Everyday I'd draw different features, expressions or hair. These caricatures might catch her eye as the journal lay open on her desk and she could read and be comforted for a few moments. Occasionally, she might try to write something herself. In those pages, written in her scrawl I found, "Thank God for writers!".

Looking back is hard. In one of my Mom's old journals I found a post-it note that said, "Cath, get rid of these... looking back serves no purpose." But looking back now lets me see that I gave my Mom all the love I could muster. Albeit an impossible feat, I did my best to repay her for all she did for me. I truly honoured my Mother. All in all, that's not a bad report card.

I miss having a mother. I miss being a daughter. Some are never so blessed.

The rest is pixie dust...