One more Mother’s Day.

Probably in her 70’s

Last summer, age 94

Age 95. Her age is more than her weight. She is about 82 pounds.

Yesterday morning the bell rang; there was an express mail delivery which contained a Mother’s Day card from my mother’s aide, Cynthia. In it were photos. I had never seen the aide before and I hadn’t seen my mother in a while.

It was a surprise–I was startled.

I have to say I had a mixed reaction: here is this tiny, frail woman who is still alive, still wants to be alive and is alive because of Cynthia’s perseverance.

I recognize her but I don’t, I can’t; it is very bittersweet.

When I think of the definition of the word “mother,” and connect to the reality that she gave birth to me, that I was created and nurtured within her, I get almost confused, overwhelmed and blown away.

This is now my mother.

This photo makes me realize that so many years have gone by.

I had a dream last night. I went to bed late after enjoying a pre-Mother’s Day dinner and indulging in two hours of sci-fi: Doctor Who and Orphan Black, both disturbing and edgy. Then I got mesmerized by a Woody Allen movie I had seen before but was drawn into: “You Will Meet A Tall Dark Stranger.” It was 1:00 am by the time I went to bed on a semi-full stomach. To add to the dream concoction, there were the photos of my mother and some images from the New York Times fashion section where painfully thin girls were wearing bathing suits topped by short leather jackets. A second of two large crickets (one I managed to remove intact and put outside last week) was picnicking on the floor of my down- stairs bathroom; it leaped over my head when I opened the door. My cats have been trying to get into the basement for weeks, now I know why.

(not my cat but this explains a lot, crickets are kitty toys)

This is how my mind concocted a dream and revealed my worst fears:

I was home and heard noises like someone was walking above me in my bedroom. Then there were a lot of cats. (I knew I had to get up and feed my brood and administer insulin to my diabetic kitty.) There was my mother! Intact, much younger, in control. My feeling is that I was not an adult, that she was still in charge. I suppose she was in my house. A man in a black leather jacket appeared in the house. I haven’t had nightmares of home invasions since I was recovering from cancer surgery; I would wake up screaming.  In this dream I felt myself trying to scream. In the dream I barely had a voice. In reality I was yelling.

When I had breast cancer, the alien, the invader of my body, my home, was the cancer.

Now it was different. The man in the black leather jacket was death.

He was coming for my mother.

It was 2:30 am when I awoke with my heart pounding. I expected the phone to ring… one of those middle of the night calls.

It never did.

I called my mother later and wished her a Happy Mother’s Day. She is ninety-five years old and still here.

This series is linked: see “continued here.” Also, below the line there will be links for the previous post and the next.

The series starts here

continued here