Apartment 1001 in 2013 – nothing new

There is a showing tomorrow in apartment 1001 and so I needed to be sure that it was in good shape and I needed to pick up the mail.

I went this afternoon for a “check-up” and to wish Mom and Dad a Happy New Years.

I don’t know what I expected.

I walked in and the room was dark.

I turned on the light.

I looked around.

It smelled fresh.

The place was empty.  Mom didn’t say, “hi”.  Dad didn’t say, “hi”.  What did I expect? I knew they were both at a better address – yet, I felt their “hello”.  I felt their “excitement” to see me.  They were always excited by a surprise visit.

I went to the pantry to check things out.  Nothing new.

I went to Dad’s room.  Nothing new.

I went to Mom’s room.  Nothing new.

I poured myself a glass of wine to cheer them with.  Nothing new (grin).

I cleaned the glass.  I had a cry.  Nothing new.

I left and locked the door behind me.

I opened the door – half expecting to see them giggle sitting in their chairs – as if they really had not passed away and they were just checking to see if I’d say, “TTFN” and “I love you”.   But, there was no one.  Nothing new.

What had I expected?  I don’t know.  This is a new place and space for me in 2013 as it is for my departed parents.  It is new – but there is nothing new.

And as I exited the building – and apartment 1001, the reflection of the sunset caught my eye.  It was Dad – I know it was – saying, “TTFN”.  “I love you, Stacey.” And delightedly I thought, “nothing new”.  Thank God.

The Setting Sun – nothing new

 

Mom’s Morning Prayer

Wow.  I found it.  For such a long time I have wondered where the poem went.

I bought a framed poem for my Mom probably 15 years ago in Ottawa.  It spoke to me and said, “HEY, Stacey!  This is all about your Mom!  Buy me!”.

And needless to say, I bought it.

The poem, by J. Lemming so reminded me of how Mom used to love the sunrise.  As a child I would lay in bed (okay, as a teen) and listen to her clanging pots and pans in the kitchen ..bright and early.  She was up before anyone else – to enjoy the peace and quiet.  I think there were times when she was up even before the birds.  Soon, I’d smell the bacon or morning treat cooking.  Wow.  If that smell doesn’t get you up – nothing will.  And so, without saying a word to us, my brother, Dad and I were up and sitting at the breakfast table with Mom.  Her companion had been the rising sun all morning.  She’d say to us, “Good morning, what a beautiful day!”  And this would be whether it was raining, snowing, blowing, or some other form of nasty weather.  And then she’d quote one of her favorite stories, “It was a lovely day and Dinky Duck was happy.”.  Now, I had never read Dinky Duck, but I think this was a main staple for my brother.  Mom loved the morning.  Mom loved the morning.

Now, every morning when I get up I look to the sunrise and wish Mom a “good-morning”.  It gives me comfort and reassures me that Mom is with me… especially when my family and I are on vacation in Myrtle Beach where  the sun rises over the ocean.  The sunrise, it seems, is sole possession of my Mom.  I hung the poem I bought her right beside my bed so that when I wake up in the morning, I am reminded of the beauty of a sunrise.  And I am reminded that I can soon expect to see Mom in the day’s rising sun.

For your reading pleasure, here is …

“Mom’s Morning Prayer”.

“Early in the morning

When the sun begins to rise,

I thank God for His

Blessings…

As I pray for sunny skies.

So sacred is the morning

As I kneel to say a Prayer

I am thankful for

God’s Presence

In my life, His love to share”

I Wait – Is Someone Waiting for Me?

Another day is dawning.  My mouth is so dry, but I am calm.  Still, what does the good Lord have in mind for me? Why am I hanging on?  Honestly, I am ready to go – but I’m not ready to go.  

Last night there was another party in my room.  My nurse, Jennifer, took over so that the family could sleep.  I know they must not have slept too well as they kept coming in every once in a while and chatted. They chatted a lot. Now, don’t get me wrong – I enjoy their chatting, but I also enjoy the silence.  Sometimes they sit and hold my hand.  I love the feeling of someone touching me.  They know I am in here.  I can hear them – I just can’t respond. 

I used to be the entertainer, the one to tell jokes and the one to sing songs.  I cannot for the life of me get those sounds to come out of my mouth.  The air comes in and the air goes out… and that’s the sound they hear.  I know it scared my grandchildren a bit to see me like this – but their parents reassured them that my journey is one that is not painful.  It is part of life.  God, how I wish Paula had this exit opportunity. I am comfortable in my own home – this is my bed – I know these sounds of birds chirping, of skateboards passing down the street.  Thank goodness no noisy motorcycles yet.  

The sun is rising – I feel the warmth on my face.  My limbs are still warm, but I’m getting tired of being in the same place – the girls turn me every once in a while but it hurts.  All I can do is groan.  But they know and they are gentle.  God bless their care.  

I hear the birds.  

I lost Paula on November 12, 2010 at 7 in the morning.  Is that my time? I know I’ll be called… but when?  

I love my family.  I hear, “I love you Dad”, and I tell their hearts, “I love you too”.  You are never to old to learn, don’t you know – I just learned a new language:  the language of heart.  I communicate without speaking or seeing.  I think I get it.  Maybe that’s why I’m still here – I’m preparing to speak without needing my body.  Is that it?  

I’m tired.  I am breathing.  I am relaxed.  I wait.