There is always some amusing situation when I go to see my mother at Haro Park Center.
I know. They are now called Campus of Care Facilities, but it seem to me that title tries too hard.
I’ve never confided in my mother about any of the things girls children, teenage girls, or pregnant out of wedlock women girls have been known to share with their mothers. So, it may be obvious why I navigated the rest of my life sans motherly advice, but now exactly sixty years later, I do want my mother’s advice.
When I arrived at the nurses station to pick up my mother to take her for
her smoke, I noticed her coming up the long hall to greet me carrying a
white purse I had never seen before. Crooked over her left arm like the
Kelly bag she had in the l950s I puzzled as to this new white one’s origin.
Easter weekend, 2021 meant we could finally give our mother, Trudy, a
hug for the first time in l3 months. As a professional writer, sometimes
events are so emotional it can’t quite be verbalized. But this story I wrote
about Trudy from over a year ago, at least tells me she hasn’t changed one
iota. She’s still firecracker full of life at 90-years old: she’s survived
Covid-19 and has happily smoked for 75 straight years.
I stared at the Skype screen in frustration. My mother needed my arms around her to be consoled and I was not there.
December 9, 2020 I’ve come to love my mother more and deeper since this second lockdown with Covid-19 over the last eight months. Yes, absence makes the heart grow fonder – but/ and – out of sight, out of mind, no? We haven’t had the closest relationship since before I was born – if you get my drift – so the landscape of our relationship has been dotted with many boulders of …well…let’s just say, I love my mom more as time passes. However, Skype. Zoom, and Whatever’s Next are not not satisfying tools for intimate communication, following as they […]
I went to see my mother at Haro Park Center where she has lived the last 4 years, and where she survived the Covid pandemic that hit Vancouver in March 2020. It had only been a week but seeing her come towards me took my breath away. She appeared more frail. Smiling so bright, her electric neon pink suit and the hydrangeas she was walking past confused my line of vision.
Remember back in the l970s’s the Orgasm-Atron in the movie, Everything You Wanted to Know About Sex But Were Afraid to Ask? A character would walk into what looked like a space-age telephone booth. After a few minutes of twirling around inside he would come out totally refreshed after being pleasured beyond compare.
Well… Going to see your 87 year-old parent in a Care Facility is nothing like that.
The latin word for memory is memoria. The very sound of that word draws me back
into, and forward with, a wave of some emotion I cannot describe. Like the tides I watch from the 26th floor of my apartment building. Even from a distance those tides are rhythmic, unrelenting, unremitting perpetual and ultimately mysterious.
“When did you get back from China?” Mom asked.
“I’m not in China, mom. How are you?”
A few minutes later, she said, “When are you going to China?”
Mom, I’m not going to China. I’m going to be right here.