Lenten Reflections #39
I love nothing more than family and my sweet dogs.
So when I see them suffering, I hate it.
Most nights sometime between 11:00 pm and 4:00 am…
in New Mexico, my Mom wakes up wondering where she is
in Georgia, our dog Sancha wanders around, barks and barks, veterinarians call it the midnight stroll
in NM, Mom awakens, ready for pancakes.
in GA, Sancha wakes up hungry for canned food
in NM, exhausted from trying to make sense of the world, Mom takes naps during the day
in GA, exhausted from trying to make four legs work as a team, Sancha sleeps most of the day
in NM, Mom wants to go “home,” remembering so much of the past and none of today
in GA, Sancha wanders from room to room looking for a place to rest
Then the day comes, and the New Mexico sun rises over the mountains…
This is when Mom walks around the yard checking the plants and trees, always stopping to smell the roses (She’ll make sure you smell them too).
she remembers where the tomatoes are planted and drenches them in water like a baptism
she remembers that the newspaper lies somewhere between the sidewalk and the lavender plant
and where to find the Cheerios. Honey Nut. Not Plain.
she is not sure if she already ate, but knows when she’s hungry.
In Georgia, the warm day begins and…
Sancha sniffs and lingers by her favorite bushes on walks
and still rolls in the grass when her face itches.
she remembers to step a little higher when there is a curb
and rests her head on anyone’s lap next to her
All of this made me think about a recent book I read..
In A Man Called Ove, author Fredrik Backman writes,
“And time is a curious thing. Most of us only live for the time that lies right ahead of us. A few days, weeks, years. One of the most painful moments in a person’s life probably comes with the insight that an age has been reached when there is more to look back on than ahead. And when time no longer lies ahead of one, other things have to be lived for. Memories, perhaps.”
This is what I learned:
Dementia is an agonizing thing. Memories are pieced together like a crazy quilt. Each one irregular in shape and size, stitched together with needle and thread. Each scrap of material a memory of childhood or maybe yesterday. Raveling begins a little each day as stories are stolen. On the periphery of their minds, we care for them and gather the fallen pieces with fury, hoping maybe tomorrow will be better, yet it’s not. It never is. And so it goes. This life, robbed of its past and one moment to the next.
We know the time is coming for Sancha. We are there.
Thank you for joining me.
I’m so glad you’re here,
Lucretia
runonmom.com 