Vanishing

I'm back from mom's house. I have been there since 9 a.m. in the morning until 6.30 p.m. Until her caretaker came back since my mom needs assistance 24/7 by now.

She's ill with Parkinson's disease. It started 12 years ago and now she's at the end. I know she is.
I can feel it. Not only I can smell it around her. I could sense it when I was still in Los Angeles and that's why I rushed over here. I just waited for my book to be out.

My book is dedicated to my mom. "Thanks to her" I wrote, "I've grown into a strong woman. She has been a role model of independence, determination, and free spirit. She never stopped fighting, and she taught me to never give up." This was for the readers who don't know my mom. Then I addressed her in my dedication: "No matter how ill, odd or fragile you may feel, Mom, you'll always been my lioness and my warrior queen."

My warrior queen is sitting on the edge of the special chair my sister and I bought her for Christmas, last year. It has a mechanism controlled by a remote that raises the seat to help her to get up. It does not matter anymore. She lost the strength in her arms and legs and now needs to be lifted. Almost carried, like a baby, when she needs to go to the bathroom.

"You can't do it," she says. "You're not heavy enough". In her mind, I'm still her baby-girl, and she's the one who should protect me. "Don't worry mom. I'm strong as nails. I can carry you all the way."

She laughs but she tries. She hugs me around my neck as I tell her. She says "ready" when I ask her if she's ready.

I lift her. She's impressed. I make her stand in front of me, hanging to my arms and shoulder.

"You're strong!", she says feeling my muscle, as she can't believe it.

"And you're heavy!", I say imitating her surprise to make her laugh again. Because I, too, can't believe how she can be that heavy and that fragile at the same time.

It takes ten minutes to get to the toilet, one little step after the other with me walking backwards, and she's using me as her support.

I help her with her pants and underwear. "Could I only vanish!" she whispers.

You would if you could, mom, I know. And I wish you could, too. I wish I had a safe way to help you vanishing soon, and keeping what's left of your dignity.

She smells of medicines, a different one every two hours. Three eights of a pill and then half of a compress all day long, keeping a schedule that's like a hospital chart.

She used to smell of Chanel N. 5 and red roses that her suitors would give her when she was going out. I use to dive into her fur collars when she was leaving the house, just to smell her perfume. Now I need to hold my breath in order not to show her how disturbed I am by that pharmacy scent.

At 11 a.m. she asks me if we already had dinner.

Her mind used to be so sharp, her intellect cunning. I remember our fired up discussions, and how informed she always was.

She asks me who'd take Bush's place now that he's dead. We play crossword puzzles. I ask her if she has cards and would like to play some.

I don't remember any of the games she mentions, the same we used to play when I was little. By now, I only know how to play poker, and cards have never been my game of choice anyhow. But she tells me to go get the encyclopedia and look under "briscola", "scala quaranta" and "ramino". I do and we start play.

I need to pick her cards from her lap several times. Her hands can't hold them, they have no grip.

Her hands are unpredictably smooth and soft. Cold, because her circulation is so poor. Still beautiful, though.

She follows the direction of my eyes and smiles. She hooks my own hand when I am once more picking up her cards. She says: "You have my hands. At least, I gave you something good."

No matter how ill, odd or fragile you may feel, Mom, you'll always been my lioness and my warrior queen.

I mean it. And she will.

Comments

[JT]

This really sucks. Sorry to hear it. Maybe the world where her mind is (with Bush dead and all) is not so bad. I hope.

[BF]

I had two grandmothers, I had three grandfathers, All three grandfathers left this earthly bond with no degeneration, My two grandmothers left this world as my mother and father showed me the true meaning of angles, So I feel your heart.