Sunday/Monday

Sunday. This has been a week. I checked last week. . . . Monday, I thought I posted a little note but apparently I only saved it. I can't guarantee coherence but I can write something.


Julia and I are in Jersey and I am typing this at my mother's bedside. There is nothing much to do but sit now. Sit now. She is slipping away. The priest is coming in a little while, while my mother is still somewhat responsive, but she is only responsive in the most general sense. I am glad I decided to come out when I did. I think she recognized me when I came in yesterday. I don't know how much longer she will.

My mother and I have not had an easy relationship. I have always been the oil to her water. For a good long while now, we have navigated around our disagreements and spoken only about the easy things -- politics and religion were easy (though we never talked about my becoming a Unitarian), heart to hearts and talking about challenges have never been part of our mix. Yesterday, I was sitting my her and took her hand to hold. She allowed me to do it for a little while and then shook my hand off and firmly took hold of her other wrist. Such an example of how we do together -- Holding her hand was for me, not her, and when she gave what she could, she wanted to be of herself again.

I listened to Deepak Choprah talking about life after death traveling from Wisconsin to Jersey. I cannot recite much theory or stories, but there was a lot of comfort there for me, and there were words.