Friday Evening Video

This version of the Nick Lowe song reminds me of sitting on the couch, watching 'The Great' with Rachael...

Last Evenings

 

When Dad died, now over twenty years ago, I was in shock. His passing was so unexpected. With Mom, it was different. With Mom, it was a slow, sometimes torturous, fade.


In the several months leading up to Mom's passing, I spent Saturday afternoons and evenings with her. Those moments were spent largely in small conversations or listening to interviews or listening to music.


Sitting there on those late afternoons, I often thought about how this must have been what it was like when she was small - sitting by the radio and quietly sharing moments with her family- listening and sharing in a way we seldom do today.


On those late afternoons, I would often prepare her dinner. Usually, this would consist of something I either prepared on the spot or, more often than not, it would be something I brought along from home - something Sam and I had made either that morning or the day before.


As Mom declined, more and more of our late afternoons and evenings were spent helping her get to her bedroom, helping her get dressed, helping her get into bed. After covering her up, I would sit in a chair, at first on one side of the room, then later, in a chair next to her bed. 

And as she declined, the sound of the TV was gradually replaced by my stilted reading or one-sided conversations. Later, it would be nothing more than me sitting there quietly, holding her hand or stroking her hair.


It was not lost on me that in those final fading moments, our roles had, at least to a small extent, been reversed. I was now doing the things for Mom that Mom once did for me. And despite the sadness and looking past the suffering, I often felt close to Mom in a way that was somehow different - and more profound - than ever before.


On Friday, it will be a month since Mom has passed. I try not to dwell on her difficult last days, or on her slowly fading away. And when I'm able to, I try not to focus on the sense of loss. Instead, for now, at least, I think about those quiet nights and evenings, evenings we spent together - in conversation - in listening to music - or, as time went on, in silence - all the while, sharing some final moments together.

Today's Brief Comment

The only thing worse than going through Mom's belongings is watching other people go through Mom's belongings.