November 4, 2011
Orange County, Ca.
The Funeral of my brother, Gary Prince
Requiem For A Righteous Prince
There is a Hebrew word - Tsadik - a word translated as the perfectly righteous. Gary's Hebrew name was Yisrael - which means Prince. Tsadik Yisrael - A Righteous Prince.
I have been fortunate enough to have been Gary' sister and lucky enough to have had him love me.
People have stood up today and talked about Gary's generosity, his frugality, his dirty jokes and emails, speaking only of his bargain hunting, his finances, his humor. I heard someone say how angry they were that Gary was taken from us. I need to address the other side of Gary and the nature of his true spirit.
When I first heard my brother was gone, I never once experienced anything remotely like anger. Instead, I felt honored. Honor and privilege were the first things I felt when I heard my brother had died. Honor and pride were the last things I recalled when he was still alive.
For me, Gary was about many things, but generosity and jokes were not among them. Strip Gary of his money, his dirty jokes and his crude presentation of them and what you had was the Gary I knew: the sweet, gentle, kind little boy who became the man with those same qualities. Without the smoke screen of humor and finance, what you had was a man of great integrity and devotion, a fiercely loyal, loving man who was pure, genuine and all things good and decent.
As a child and as a man, Gary's essence was about making those he loved safe and secure and knowing you were never alone, never without guidance, never without sanctuary.
Mitch Albom wrote in his book Have A Little Faith :
" If you could pack for heaven, this is how you'd do it -
Touching everything, taking nothing..."
This is indeed what Gary did. He wanted nothing in return for his deeds, but made it his job to change everything in his world, making it all a little better than before he got there. He was a master at teaching, yet his delivery was terrible and often misunderstood.
Those who knew Gary, really knew him, understood this: That beyond the crudeness and the laughter was an amazingly serious, highly principled, complex, joyous and sensitive man whose one true ambition was and always has been to right what was wrong, fix what was broken, fill what was empty and love and cherish everything around him. His passion for life, his family, his friends and his business associates was like nothing I had ever seen before. For me, knowing Gary loved me and honored me a his sister made me see the worth I often doubted.
Yes, he was an extraordinary man. But Gary taught me on a regular basis that there is true greatness in ordinary things. Ordinary things like love, loyalty, family, faith, compassion and joy.
I still can't imagine a world without my dear big brother in it, yet I know I am forever changed and bettered by him. It has been written that the only full heart is a broken one. My world is indeed a little colder now, a lot less safe and a whole lot bigger. And still, my heart is finally full.
I know I'll be living my life from here on in honoring more than just a memory, more than just a man. I will be carrying a little piece of Gary with me for the rest of my days and that, in itself, will make all the difference.
Gary, we are all so very proud of you, so grateful you were here. You were loved and honored beyond your wildest dreams and you did absolutely everything you set out to do and then some. You made a difference, you mattered, you listened, you helped, you healed and you made us all believe, that in your eyes, we were blessed, validated and heard. You touched everything within your reach and carried the burdens of those around you on your strong, steady shoulders and in your true and gentle heart. You were so many things to so many people. We adored you, we trusted you, we counted on you and what you gave us in return was the most important thing of all - knowing that somewhere out there, as dependable as the promise of a sunrise through the impending darkness, there was someone who believed in us, wholeheartedly, and would never let us down.
You'll be leaving behind more than you'll ever know. There is a whole family, an entire community who have lost both their anchor and their light, their reason and their grace. May we all find our way without you now with God's mercy and our precious memories of you and all you have taught us by your example. You were truly one of the good guys, saving the day one soul at a time.
You've changed my world and made it a better, sweeter, warmer place to be. Thank you for all that you were, all that you've done and the legacy you have left us with.
Good-bye, my righteous prince.
Good-bye
Monday, November 21, 2011
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Sins of the Daughter - Part 3 - The End of Days
The End of Days - 6/22/11
I feel like I am in limbo; caught somewhere between childhood and now, sorrow and joy. I am scared for myself, terrified for my mother. The sense of loss is beyond anything I have ever known, yet at the same time, my heart is full and my conscience has been given a slight reprieve.
The perfect order of things has changed. I feel I must redefine who I am, what I've become, this time with a history that has just been rewritten, a history that includes a mother who was a much greater part of it than I had remembered.
Although I have been fortunate enough to spend seven long days with my mother, there is a void of fifty five years that will never be filled, a void that can't really be measured in time, years, days, and there is an emptiness for all I have missed that will stay with me forever. I have lost more than time; I have lost an integral part of myself, my history, my memories, my past. I will never be completely whole or fulfilled again and I know whenever I think back to anything in my life, it will feel wrong, incomplete and unforgiving.
Yet, even so, I am profoundly changed. For the first time in my life, I got to know my mother, got to see who she was, let her know she had that daughter she always needed; that daughter that was finally kind, loving, understanding and unconditionally present. I can't be sorry that it took so long, that it took something as cruel as dementia, that it happened with just moments to spare, at 9 minutes to midnight and still counting down. I can only be grateful that it did happen before it was too late, before we both left this world with nothing to prove that we did indeed exist together, that nothing passed between us, that we remained strangers. And I am more than grateful, more than honored that we've been given this chance, this respite, this small window of time.
I never got a chance to tell her about my life now, what I've been doing the last eight years or the past thirty years. I didn't get a chance to tell her about my family, my life, my home, my plans, my dreams, my weaknesses. There were no details and no facts. I never got to say I'm sorry. Somehow, none of that mattered, none of it had anything to do with right here, right now, my mother, me, trying to stretch out a final joyous moment that's been such a long time coming.
My mother showed me this past week that love, loyalty and blood are stronger than any disease, transcends speech, intellect and understanding. I know now that there is greatness in ordinary things and there are no memories sweeter or more bitter than those that change you, impact you, destroy you and heal you - all in the same breath and all with mercy and kindness, loss and gain.
I remember reading once: " In search of my mother's garden, I found my own. " There is a small element of truth to this, yet I can't help believe that we should never have to search in the first place. If we were whole, undamaged, aware, we would instinctively know from the beginning that such a garden exists, that it doesn't take years, despair or unanswered questions to be motivated to find it. It just is. Always has been.
I wish I could recall when it all changed for me, when my childhood became a test rather than a result, when my family, or more specifically my mother, became so inaccessible, so distant, so unfamiliar. I wish I could remember that moment, go back to that very instant and forget it forever, change it, make it something that held no substance, had no matter, made no difference.
I still have no idea when it happened or what it was. But it became the very thing that changed my direction, made me lose my way, gave me that eternal sense of emptiness that brought me to here, this moment, this day, where I can only wonder where would we all be if things had been different.
I still wear my regrets like a straight jacket. Probably more so now than ever before. Yet still, I can finally move within its confines, I can breath a little easier. Yes, I can breathe.
I feel like I am in limbo; caught somewhere between childhood and now, sorrow and joy. I am scared for myself, terrified for my mother. The sense of loss is beyond anything I have ever known, yet at the same time, my heart is full and my conscience has been given a slight reprieve.
The perfect order of things has changed. I feel I must redefine who I am, what I've become, this time with a history that has just been rewritten, a history that includes a mother who was a much greater part of it than I had remembered.
Although I have been fortunate enough to spend seven long days with my mother, there is a void of fifty five years that will never be filled, a void that can't really be measured in time, years, days, and there is an emptiness for all I have missed that will stay with me forever. I have lost more than time; I have lost an integral part of myself, my history, my memories, my past. I will never be completely whole or fulfilled again and I know whenever I think back to anything in my life, it will feel wrong, incomplete and unforgiving.
Yet, even so, I am profoundly changed. For the first time in my life, I got to know my mother, got to see who she was, let her know she had that daughter she always needed; that daughter that was finally kind, loving, understanding and unconditionally present. I can't be sorry that it took so long, that it took something as cruel as dementia, that it happened with just moments to spare, at 9 minutes to midnight and still counting down. I can only be grateful that it did happen before it was too late, before we both left this world with nothing to prove that we did indeed exist together, that nothing passed between us, that we remained strangers. And I am more than grateful, more than honored that we've been given this chance, this respite, this small window of time.
I never got a chance to tell her about my life now, what I've been doing the last eight years or the past thirty years. I didn't get a chance to tell her about my family, my life, my home, my plans, my dreams, my weaknesses. There were no details and no facts. I never got to say I'm sorry. Somehow, none of that mattered, none of it had anything to do with right here, right now, my mother, me, trying to stretch out a final joyous moment that's been such a long time coming.
My mother showed me this past week that love, loyalty and blood are stronger than any disease, transcends speech, intellect and understanding. I know now that there is greatness in ordinary things and there are no memories sweeter or more bitter than those that change you, impact you, destroy you and heal you - all in the same breath and all with mercy and kindness, loss and gain.
I remember reading once: " In search of my mother's garden, I found my own. " There is a small element of truth to this, yet I can't help believe that we should never have to search in the first place. If we were whole, undamaged, aware, we would instinctively know from the beginning that such a garden exists, that it doesn't take years, despair or unanswered questions to be motivated to find it. It just is. Always has been.
I wish I could recall when it all changed for me, when my childhood became a test rather than a result, when my family, or more specifically my mother, became so inaccessible, so distant, so unfamiliar. I wish I could remember that moment, go back to that very instant and forget it forever, change it, make it something that held no substance, had no matter, made no difference.
I still have no idea when it happened or what it was. But it became the very thing that changed my direction, made me lose my way, gave me that eternal sense of emptiness that brought me to here, this moment, this day, where I can only wonder where would we all be if things had been different.
I still wear my regrets like a straight jacket. Probably more so now than ever before. Yet still, I can finally move within its confines, I can breath a little easier. Yes, I can breathe.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Sins of the Daughter - Part 2 - The days
Day 7 - 6/21/11
I'm going home today, but fortunately, will get to see my mother one last time before I have to be at the airport. It almost feels surreal that by tomorrow, I'll be back to my own life, my own world, thousands of miles away, but I know I will be taking a part of her with me and will hold on to it, never to be lost again.
I've been dreading this day, this moment, when I'll have to say good-bye to my mother, very likely for the last time ever. I walked into Mom's room and she greeted me by name again, with a smile and a peaceful look on her face. Her room was filled with morning sun, the New York City skyline glistening through her window and there was a lightness in the room I hadn't noticed before.
For the last time this trip, I took off my shoes and laid down next to my mother, looked into her eyes and smiled at her. " It was so great getting to see you again, " I told her. She smiled back and for the first time this week, she reached up to me. " Yes, " she told me, " It was wonderful. " She asked me if I was coming back and I told her I would.
Our good-bye was quick; I love you, I'll miss you, basic salutations, mindfully avoiding the obvious and keeping the emotions in check, seemingly for her benefit, but mostly for mine. We stared into each others eyes one last time, and looking at her with all the love and respect I had inside of me, with my hand over my heart where she could see it, I said the one thing that needed most to be said. " Thank you, Mom. For everything. " She moved her hand close to her own heart. " You're welcome. "
I am sad, but more than anything else, I feel blessed. I have experienced something this past week I have never felt before, something deep, profound and foreign to me. When I looked into my mother's eyes and she looked back at mine, I felt something divine, a long lost connection not only with my own mother, but also with myself. Every time I had I looked into my mother's eyes and really saw her, I felt the presence of God, completely and wholeheartedly. I couldn't have hoped for more.
I'm going home today, but fortunately, will get to see my mother one last time before I have to be at the airport. It almost feels surreal that by tomorrow, I'll be back to my own life, my own world, thousands of miles away, but I know I will be taking a part of her with me and will hold on to it, never to be lost again.
I've been dreading this day, this moment, when I'll have to say good-bye to my mother, very likely for the last time ever. I walked into Mom's room and she greeted me by name again, with a smile and a peaceful look on her face. Her room was filled with morning sun, the New York City skyline glistening through her window and there was a lightness in the room I hadn't noticed before.
For the last time this trip, I took off my shoes and laid down next to my mother, looked into her eyes and smiled at her. " It was so great getting to see you again, " I told her. She smiled back and for the first time this week, she reached up to me. " Yes, " she told me, " It was wonderful. " She asked me if I was coming back and I told her I would.
Our good-bye was quick; I love you, I'll miss you, basic salutations, mindfully avoiding the obvious and keeping the emotions in check, seemingly for her benefit, but mostly for mine. We stared into each others eyes one last time, and looking at her with all the love and respect I had inside of me, with my hand over my heart where she could see it, I said the one thing that needed most to be said. " Thank you, Mom. For everything. " She moved her hand close to her own heart. " You're welcome. "
I am sad, but more than anything else, I feel blessed. I have experienced something this past week I have never felt before, something deep, profound and foreign to me. When I looked into my mother's eyes and she looked back at mine, I felt something divine, a long lost connection not only with my own mother, but also with myself. Every time I had I looked into my mother's eyes and really saw her, I felt the presence of God, completely and wholeheartedly. I couldn't have hoped for more.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Sins of the Daughter - Part 2 - The days
Day 6 - 6/20/11
One more day and I am overwhelmed with sadness and loss. When I walk into my Mom's home, I hear her yelling in her room. Her caretaker's told us she had a rough night, hadn't slept and pulled her colostomy bag and diaper off during the night. My aunt and I take off for awhile and come back a few hours later.
She is still agitated, yelling, fidgeting. This just might be the last time I'll get to see her as we have to get to the airport tomorrow morning and we're not sure of the timing and her wakefulness. I walk into her room, lay down next to her and look into her eyes. " You're taking me home, " she says to me. I answer her, " Sorry, Mom, I can't do that. "
She continues yelling, telling me that people are watching her, trying to hurt her. I take her hand and look into her eyes. " No one will hurt you, Mom. Not while we're here, " I tell her. " It's O.K. "
I begin to understand her frustration, although I know I can never fully comprehend what she's feeling inside. I see she's fighting, struggling against some unknown demon, trapped beyond anything that can be contained within her room, her world, her being. I tell her how sorry I am that she has to go through this, that she needs to stop fighting, that there's nothing left to fight. " Please, " she tells me, " Make it stop. "
I tell her I can't, I can't do anything except love her and see her now, understand how much she's struggled and never forget all she's done in this life. I tell her she's done good, did everything she set out to do, left a trail of broken hearts and souls filled with happiness and honor. Again, I tell her how proud she should be, how lucky we all are to have had her with us. She asked me if I see her. I tell her yes. She asks again,
" See me inside? " Yes, I tell her. I see all of you. She tells me she can tell. She sees me, too.
One more day and I am overwhelmed with sadness and loss. When I walk into my Mom's home, I hear her yelling in her room. Her caretaker's told us she had a rough night, hadn't slept and pulled her colostomy bag and diaper off during the night. My aunt and I take off for awhile and come back a few hours later.
She is still agitated, yelling, fidgeting. This just might be the last time I'll get to see her as we have to get to the airport tomorrow morning and we're not sure of the timing and her wakefulness. I walk into her room, lay down next to her and look into her eyes. " You're taking me home, " she says to me. I answer her, " Sorry, Mom, I can't do that. "
She continues yelling, telling me that people are watching her, trying to hurt her. I take her hand and look into her eyes. " No one will hurt you, Mom. Not while we're here, " I tell her. " It's O.K. "
I begin to understand her frustration, although I know I can never fully comprehend what she's feeling inside. I see she's fighting, struggling against some unknown demon, trapped beyond anything that can be contained within her room, her world, her being. I tell her how sorry I am that she has to go through this, that she needs to stop fighting, that there's nothing left to fight. " Please, " she tells me, " Make it stop. "
I tell her I can't, I can't do anything except love her and see her now, understand how much she's struggled and never forget all she's done in this life. I tell her she's done good, did everything she set out to do, left a trail of broken hearts and souls filled with happiness and honor. Again, I tell her how proud she should be, how lucky we all are to have had her with us. She asked me if I see her. I tell her yes. She asks again,
" See me inside? " Yes, I tell her. I see all of you. She tells me she can tell. She sees me, too.
Sins of the Daughter - Part 2 - The days
Day 5 - 6/19/11
Sunday, 2 more days before I leave for home. I am trying to hold on to each moment with my mother, to savor each look, every word. She has company today, an older couple who were friends of my parents from before I was born. My aunt, who brought me here to see my mom, is with them, too. I stay in another room to avoid confusing her, but I am strangely concerned about her well being.
I hear them talking to her and although they are kind and gentle, I am disturbed by all their questions and the expectations of answers. I shrink every time I hear a " Do you remember....? " or " Who's this....? " when a photograph is placed in front of her. Somehow, I have a feeling this reinforces her helplessness and reminds her how lost she's become.
I want to protect her, shield her from anything that could hurt her, but I know I am decades too late. I have done my share of damage and so many incidents come flooding through my memories that I am heartbroken. Disregard, apathy, indifference, disrespect; so many images flash before me that I am stunned that this was me, my doing, my actions, my history with this woman who I've just discovered, just learned how important she was, is, forever will be. This goes far beyond remorse, regret and shame and although I know my mother has forgiven me, I'm not sure I can ever forgive myself or ever learn to accept those thing I did, or even worse, those things I didn't do.
Her company has left and I go into her room to visit her. Again, she remembers me and seems happy to see me. I can't believe how lucky I've been, how receptive she's been to me. She seems tired, mildly agitated, distracted and I realized I haven't heard her laugh, not once since I've been here. Her caretaker is Russian and I recalled a Russian swear word I had learned. I leaned over and said the word to her, smiling. Kakashka - roughly translated to shit head. " Kakashka, " she repeated back, and started to laugh. Her caretaker heard us and reprimanded me. " That's not a nice word, " she told me, " It means this, " she said, pointing to my Mom's colostomy bag. That made Mom laugh even harder. " Kakashka, " she said again.
When things quieted down, I told her I was leaving in two days and that I would miss her, how amazing it was to get to see her again. When I was looking into her eyes and hers into mine, I told her to try to remember what this feels like, to have someone always there in your heart, that no matter what, she would never be alone. She didn't answer, but she still held on to my gaze. I started to cry and turned away. She said " No! ", and I turned back to her. " Sorry, Mom, " I told her. " Not no, " she said, " Know "
Sunday, 2 more days before I leave for home. I am trying to hold on to each moment with my mother, to savor each look, every word. She has company today, an older couple who were friends of my parents from before I was born. My aunt, who brought me here to see my mom, is with them, too. I stay in another room to avoid confusing her, but I am strangely concerned about her well being.
I hear them talking to her and although they are kind and gentle, I am disturbed by all their questions and the expectations of answers. I shrink every time I hear a " Do you remember....? " or " Who's this....? " when a photograph is placed in front of her. Somehow, I have a feeling this reinforces her helplessness and reminds her how lost she's become.
I want to protect her, shield her from anything that could hurt her, but I know I am decades too late. I have done my share of damage and so many incidents come flooding through my memories that I am heartbroken. Disregard, apathy, indifference, disrespect; so many images flash before me that I am stunned that this was me, my doing, my actions, my history with this woman who I've just discovered, just learned how important she was, is, forever will be. This goes far beyond remorse, regret and shame and although I know my mother has forgiven me, I'm not sure I can ever forgive myself or ever learn to accept those thing I did, or even worse, those things I didn't do.
Her company has left and I go into her room to visit her. Again, she remembers me and seems happy to see me. I can't believe how lucky I've been, how receptive she's been to me. She seems tired, mildly agitated, distracted and I realized I haven't heard her laugh, not once since I've been here. Her caretaker is Russian and I recalled a Russian swear word I had learned. I leaned over and said the word to her, smiling. Kakashka - roughly translated to shit head. " Kakashka, " she repeated back, and started to laugh. Her caretaker heard us and reprimanded me. " That's not a nice word, " she told me, " It means this, " she said, pointing to my Mom's colostomy bag. That made Mom laugh even harder. " Kakashka, " she said again.
When things quieted down, I told her I was leaving in two days and that I would miss her, how amazing it was to get to see her again. When I was looking into her eyes and hers into mine, I told her to try to remember what this feels like, to have someone always there in your heart, that no matter what, she would never be alone. She didn't answer, but she still held on to my gaze. I started to cry and turned away. She said " No! ", and I turned back to her. " Sorry, Mom, " I told her. " Not no, " she said, " Know "
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Sins of the Daughter - Part 2 - The days
Day 4 - 6/18/11
It just hit me that our days together are numbered. I am going back back home in 3 days and I almost can't bear the thought of leaving her. This has been the first and only time I've ever felt a connection to my mother and I feel as if I have to condense 55 years of emotions and communication into these few short days. I know she sees me, feels me, knows how my love for her has transcended all else, but still, there is so much I need for her to hear.
Another rough night for her; agitated, delusional, yelling. I was prepared for the worst, but again, when I came in her room and laid down next to her and looked into her eyes, she smiled and greeting me by name. " Hi Mom," I said to her smiling. " How do you feel today? " Still looking into my eyes, she asked, " Now? " I responded, " Yes, right now. " She answered, " Safe now. "
There's something about the way she stares into my eyes, a searching, trying to hold on to something, anything that makes her strange new world familiar. Still looking back at her, I told her that this, here, now, was what I've been waiting for my whole life, to see into each other's souls and know it was all worthwhile. I told her I see her, I know her, that I'm so proud of all that she's done, all that she is. I noticed a tear running down her face and wiped it with a tissue. " You o.k. Mom? " I asked her. " Proud " she responded.
I asked her if there was anything I could do for her. She answered, " Yes. Take me home. I'm done here."
It just hit me that our days together are numbered. I am going back back home in 3 days and I almost can't bear the thought of leaving her. This has been the first and only time I've ever felt a connection to my mother and I feel as if I have to condense 55 years of emotions and communication into these few short days. I know she sees me, feels me, knows how my love for her has transcended all else, but still, there is so much I need for her to hear.
Another rough night for her; agitated, delusional, yelling. I was prepared for the worst, but again, when I came in her room and laid down next to her and looked into her eyes, she smiled and greeting me by name. " Hi Mom," I said to her smiling. " How do you feel today? " Still looking into my eyes, she asked, " Now? " I responded, " Yes, right now. " She answered, " Safe now. "
There's something about the way she stares into my eyes, a searching, trying to hold on to something, anything that makes her strange new world familiar. Still looking back at her, I told her that this, here, now, was what I've been waiting for my whole life, to see into each other's souls and know it was all worthwhile. I told her I see her, I know her, that I'm so proud of all that she's done, all that she is. I noticed a tear running down her face and wiped it with a tissue. " You o.k. Mom? " I asked her. " Proud " she responded.
I asked her if there was anything I could do for her. She answered, " Yes. Take me home. I'm done here."
Friday, June 24, 2011
Sins of the Daughter - Part 2 - The days
Day 3 -6/18/11
My visit was short today. Mom's caretaker said she had a bad night, didn't sleep, was highly agitated, kept asking to die. I peaked into her room and saw her eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. I called her name, moved where she could see me. She returned my gaze again, managed a weak smile and said " My little girl. "
She looked tired, defeated, restless, fidgeting with her blankets, feet and legs moving as if she were trying to run somewhere. " Trying to run away, Mom? " I asked her. She looked away. " I wish. " she answered.
My visit was short today. Mom's caretaker said she had a bad night, didn't sleep, was highly agitated, kept asking to die. I peaked into her room and saw her eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. I called her name, moved where she could see me. She returned my gaze again, managed a weak smile and said " My little girl. "
She looked tired, defeated, restless, fidgeting with her blankets, feet and legs moving as if she were trying to run somewhere. " Trying to run away, Mom? " I asked her. She looked away. " I wish. " she answered.
Sins of the Daughter - Part 2 - The days
Day 2 - 6/16/11
She recognized me again, responded to my walking into her room with a smile. " I didn't think you were coming. " she told me. I smiled at her, looked into her eyes and told her I promised I would see her every day I was here. I asked her if that was O.K., would it be too much for her to see me all the time. " Stay. " she answered.
The rest of our visit that day was quiet. I laid down next to her, held her hand, looked into her eyes. And as it was the day before, she locked into my gaze and returned it. Again, all my emotions flooded my heart and all I could think of was how unfair this was, how vital and intense this woman once was, how this was not how she wanted to end up. In fact, this was her biggest fear. I remember thinking - does she understand what's happened to her, does she know where she is, what she's become, is she scared. Our eyes were still on each other and I saw what looked like terror. " Are you O.K. Mom? " I asked her. She shook her head no. " I can't imagine what this is like for you, " I told her. " Horrible, " she answered.
She recognized me again, responded to my walking into her room with a smile. " I didn't think you were coming. " she told me. I smiled at her, looked into her eyes and told her I promised I would see her every day I was here. I asked her if that was O.K., would it be too much for her to see me all the time. " Stay. " she answered.
The rest of our visit that day was quiet. I laid down next to her, held her hand, looked into her eyes. And as it was the day before, she locked into my gaze and returned it. Again, all my emotions flooded my heart and all I could think of was how unfair this was, how vital and intense this woman once was, how this was not how she wanted to end up. In fact, this was her biggest fear. I remember thinking - does she understand what's happened to her, does she know where she is, what she's become, is she scared. Our eyes were still on each other and I saw what looked like terror. " Are you O.K. Mom? " I asked her. She shook her head no. " I can't imagine what this is like for you, " I told her. " Horrible, " she answered.
Sins of the Daughter - Part 2 - The days
Day 1 -6/15/11
My mother recognized me. She called my name, knew who I was, seemed genuinely happy to see me. The thing that impressed me most was how she looked at me. There weren't a lot of words spoken; her verbal skills were limited to one or two word answers, and at times she spoke in unintelligible phrases, stuttering as if stumped by language and comprehension. I understood that our communication would have to rely on instincts, emotions and matters of the heart rather than intellect.
Her eyes seemed to lock into mine and I returned her gaze and stayed there for as long as she held on to it. I tried to say all those things I never had the courage to tell her with words, let my heart and spirit speak through my eyes. I couldn't hide anything from her, wouldn't let our past interfere with what was before me. Yes, I was filled with regret, remorse, shame, all those things things that pride, immaturity and anger get in the way of, but what I was really feeling was unconditional love, respect, honor and privilege.
I finally saw who she was, what she had been, and how much she influenced everything I was and still am. I noticed how much I looked like her, how we almost seemed like mirror images of each other. And, at that moment, she pointed to me and then back to herself and said the word 'mirror'. There was no mistaking. She knew. And I knew. Finally.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Sins of the Daughter
I wear my regrets like a straight jacket.
Up until this week, I believed there was no such thing as redemption. No matter how hard I tried, the best I could hope for was resolution and the most I would expect is resignation. With each passing year, the word 'Sorry' became a shadow, something to hide the ghosts that were destined to haunt me for a lifetime. And with the passage of time, I could only wish that I could gain the courage to walk through the shadows and face my demons, embrace them and pray they don't destroy me in the process. And if we're truly lucky, we'll get to see that they really weren't demons after all, but rather brutal lessons pointing our way back home.
There is nothing to prepare you for seeing someone you've known, loved and feared your whole life annihilated by Alzheimer's.
It defies words, feelings, humanity, transcends defining and goes beyond anything you can understand or explain. It makes you question life itself, defies the presence of God, fairness and justice and leaves you stunned and empty. It gives new meaning to helplessness and despair and touches your heart in ways it should never be touched.
My whole life, from childhood to middle age, I never really saw my mother, nor she me. I couldn't put our relationship in any category I could articulate, just figured we were two people related by blood and nothing more. The only common ground we ever had was our great love for my father, her husband, and when he died seven years ago, I assumed we were done with each other. We were estranged for many years and I honestly felt nothing about it.
It wasn't until my youngest brother Gary called me three years ago to tell me our mother had Alzheimer's that all that had changed. He told me I needed to speak to her while she was still somewhat lucid, that there was only a small window of time, that I would be forever haunted if I didn't.
That phone call made all the difference in the world to me. I was afraid, still, of what she might say, how she would receive me. But the moment I heard her voice, listened to her words, I finally understood that this was not the enemy. It was my mother.
Her first words were " All is forgiven. I've missed you. " We spoke for a few minutes, said our apologies and I love yous and hung up. Ten minutes later, she called back to ask if I had really called her or was it a dream. It was a matter of months before she deteriorated to the point of no longer being able to do anything for herself, lucidity gone, being reduced to a phantom, fading into the shadows. I tried to call her a few times a month, but with each conversation, she drifted further and further away.
I got to see her this week after eight long years. I was braced for the worst, expected nothing and thought, at best, I would get to say my good-byes without her returning the sentiments.
Nothing could have prepared me for our reunion. And if I ever doubted the presence of God, this was the one solitary thing that cinched the deal. I am now convinced that redemption comes to those who need it most, that souls are spared and we are indeed protected by something much greater than ourselves.
I walked into her room and saw her in all her helplessness; small, emaciated, staring into space, wearing diapers, drool dripping down the side of her mouth, stripped of absolutely everything that made her who she was. I walked into her line of vision, she locked her eyes into mine and I swear, for the first time in my life, I really saw her and she saw me. Her face actually lit up, she smiled and called my name.
Up until this week, I believed there was no such thing as redemption. No matter how hard I tried, the best I could hope for was resolution and the most I would expect is resignation. With each passing year, the word 'Sorry' became a shadow, something to hide the ghosts that were destined to haunt me for a lifetime. And with the passage of time, I could only wish that I could gain the courage to walk through the shadows and face my demons, embrace them and pray they don't destroy me in the process. And if we're truly lucky, we'll get to see that they really weren't demons after all, but rather brutal lessons pointing our way back home.
There is nothing to prepare you for seeing someone you've known, loved and feared your whole life annihilated by Alzheimer's.
It defies words, feelings, humanity, transcends defining and goes beyond anything you can understand or explain. It makes you question life itself, defies the presence of God, fairness and justice and leaves you stunned and empty. It gives new meaning to helplessness and despair and touches your heart in ways it should never be touched.
My whole life, from childhood to middle age, I never really saw my mother, nor she me. I couldn't put our relationship in any category I could articulate, just figured we were two people related by blood and nothing more. The only common ground we ever had was our great love for my father, her husband, and when he died seven years ago, I assumed we were done with each other. We were estranged for many years and I honestly felt nothing about it.
It wasn't until my youngest brother Gary called me three years ago to tell me our mother had Alzheimer's that all that had changed. He told me I needed to speak to her while she was still somewhat lucid, that there was only a small window of time, that I would be forever haunted if I didn't.
That phone call made all the difference in the world to me. I was afraid, still, of what she might say, how she would receive me. But the moment I heard her voice, listened to her words, I finally understood that this was not the enemy. It was my mother.
Her first words were " All is forgiven. I've missed you. " We spoke for a few minutes, said our apologies and I love yous and hung up. Ten minutes later, she called back to ask if I had really called her or was it a dream. It was a matter of months before she deteriorated to the point of no longer being able to do anything for herself, lucidity gone, being reduced to a phantom, fading into the shadows. I tried to call her a few times a month, but with each conversation, she drifted further and further away.
I got to see her this week after eight long years. I was braced for the worst, expected nothing and thought, at best, I would get to say my good-byes without her returning the sentiments.
Nothing could have prepared me for our reunion. And if I ever doubted the presence of God, this was the one solitary thing that cinched the deal. I am now convinced that redemption comes to those who need it most, that souls are spared and we are indeed protected by something much greater than ourselves.
I walked into her room and saw her in all her helplessness; small, emaciated, staring into space, wearing diapers, drool dripping down the side of her mouth, stripped of absolutely everything that made her who she was. I walked into her line of vision, she locked her eyes into mine and I swear, for the first time in my life, I really saw her and she saw me. Her face actually lit up, she smiled and called my name.
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