My lovely Mum is slowly slipping away. Life is a precious thing and placing emphasis on quality and quantity of life is so hard. What if quality is a little smile? A small joke? A moment of gentleness? kindness? I do not think I know. I cannot clearly say. If I asked her if she wanted to go, I think her external self would be shocked but would her internal self her subconscious be relieved?
I want it all to end but then I do not what it to be final. Then that will be it. At the moment I pretend and recreate conversations from long ago. Tell her tales of the external world. Tales of fabric, patterns, of beauty and of bright sunny days. I tell her tales of people of who says what who does what and I pretend this is of consequence to her still.
The little glimmer of meaning in what she says I suspect is said with word memory and of little consequence yet I press on it, clutch at it, wanting meaning. Yet I know from her own reality of before she has now fallen. This is why it is so exhausting. I carry heavily all reality creating emotional connections and making conversations for the two of us. I am drowning whilst trying to keep us both afloat. I am so weary.
I pray for friends and family who have passed over recently and from past to come and collect her. Come beckon to her, guide her the way. Reassure her please and let her know gently it is okay to go. You can guide her she will not be afraid of you.
I love with my very being, so very much I do not want her to go. But the harsh reality of now makes me push it away. I watch TV subtitles and get distracted by makeovers of people and places and escape in other folk’s adventures. All to avoid the muttered conversations of nonsense I try to hear but no longer can ever understand. She talks of walking into rooms and of being in courtyards. I place desperate meaning on this being her moving on. She mutters nonsense.
Sleep can restful, restorative. She is now so tired she keeps her eyes closed. It is as if there is no longer anything worth seeing. I buy flowers and bring them to the room to create, no to mark and note there is outside beauty. The flowers sit there as a big colourful explosion of love. When I am not there if she opens her eyes, she can see she is loved and not alone. The flowers speak of love, kindness and thoughtfulness.
Away from her I need, I long to return from her side but am broken with exhaustion and am grateful of rest. It is important though to plan to return. To know when I will be back gently stroking her hair and sitting beside her. She hates I know to be alone.