Mother's Day Marathon
I remember when I had two grandmothers, a step-mother, a mother-in-law, and a bio-Mom. I'd get a bunch of cards and marshall the children to sign or draw a picture and get them all in the mail in a timely fashion and, voila, Mother's Day Achievement Unlocked.
It's changed, these days. The grandmothers are gone, and the children are grown. I don't recall calling the mothers on Mother's Day, although I must have. Perhaps not the grandmothers? Although it was fairly common for me to talk to Grandma Florence each week-end. I think back then I used to tolerate phone calls better.
Now it's just torture. Not the part where I hear my mothers' voices: that seems bittersweet because I know now that it won't be forever. (I can still hear my grandmothers' voices in my head, but for how much longer?) I wish I had taped their voices. I ought to tape voices more: my husband did that with our children, just taking audio clips, and it's brilliant. I love hearing them more than I love seeing pictures. I need an audio library of these beloved people.
But that's not what this day is about, it's about small talk. It's particularly hard to do small talk with the one with dementia because she repeats herself mercilessly. There's an art to talking to her that I can sometimes catch, but sometimes I don't get in the groove. This was one of those times when it was hard. I know the trick, though: you ask her about the present. She's absolutely herself in the present. But if you ask her about her day, or ask her about the boat ride you saw pictures of, or ask her how someone else is doing, she can't answer and it's frustrating.
This time I sent gifts, mostly because I'm feeling flush from my business doing well, but also because I didn't manage to get presents out for Christmas. I also sent cards, but they were just signed by me (for my two moms) or my husband (for his mom.)
My own children call me now, even though I know that talking on the phone for them is as awful to them as it is to me. The small talk was a bit easier, but still stilted. Hearing their voice was the whole shebang for me. It fits into some grooves inside me that are empty. I love just hearing them. They don't even need to be talking to me, just talking where I can hear.
So, yeah, I called my mother(s) today. Because now I know how important it is. But, sheesh, I'm on the phone more on Mother's Day than any other day of the year.
It's changed, these days. The grandmothers are gone, and the children are grown. I don't recall calling the mothers on Mother's Day, although I must have. Perhaps not the grandmothers? Although it was fairly common for me to talk to Grandma Florence each week-end. I think back then I used to tolerate phone calls better.
Now it's just torture. Not the part where I hear my mothers' voices: that seems bittersweet because I know now that it won't be forever. (I can still hear my grandmothers' voices in my head, but for how much longer?) I wish I had taped their voices. I ought to tape voices more: my husband did that with our children, just taking audio clips, and it's brilliant. I love hearing them more than I love seeing pictures. I need an audio library of these beloved people.
But that's not what this day is about, it's about small talk. It's particularly hard to do small talk with the one with dementia because she repeats herself mercilessly. There's an art to talking to her that I can sometimes catch, but sometimes I don't get in the groove. This was one of those times when it was hard. I know the trick, though: you ask her about the present. She's absolutely herself in the present. But if you ask her about her day, or ask her about the boat ride you saw pictures of, or ask her how someone else is doing, she can't answer and it's frustrating.
This time I sent gifts, mostly because I'm feeling flush from my business doing well, but also because I didn't manage to get presents out for Christmas. I also sent cards, but they were just signed by me (for my two moms) or my husband (for his mom.)
My own children call me now, even though I know that talking on the phone for them is as awful to them as it is to me. The small talk was a bit easier, but still stilted. Hearing their voice was the whole shebang for me. It fits into some grooves inside me that are empty. I love just hearing them. They don't even need to be talking to me, just talking where I can hear.
So, yeah, I called my mother(s) today. Because now I know how important it is. But, sheesh, I'm on the phone more on Mother's Day than any other day of the year.