Today I HAD to go to the grocery and drop off a big package for UPS to deliver to my son. I put on some leggings and a tunic and covered what's left of my hair and set out.
About half way through the grocery, I felt it begin. My panties were sliding down inside my leggings. I was confident that no one else would notice, due to the long tunic, but that didn't keep me from laughing in the aisles. People must have wondered what the heck.
But just now I chatted with a friend and while relating the story, a big memory came bouncing back, like a Labrador Retriever pup with a ball. It was a happy memory, and a bittersweet one.
A few decades back, in a different life, my parents came to visit me. I took some vacation days and we set out to paint our house. Dad taught me about caulking and sealing, and pretty much directed from the ground. Actually, at one point, he took the ladder away, while I was on the roof. Now you know where I get it, eh? Also, it was the last time he climbed a ladder. He was dying very slowly from a mysterious disease that took a bit of him at a time. It was cruel and unusual, and he fought so damned hard before he gave up any little thing. But he fell from a step ladder during that visit and cried. I knew it was partially from physical pain - he had enough of that for ten men - but it was also from loss. He knew that would be his last ladder climb.
But this was before Mom started being forgetful. Long before. We'd get up early each morning and prep and paint. We only stopped for food. One morning, Mom and I went to the grocery early. I pulled on my sweat pants from the day before, She took one side of the store and I took the other. It was all about maximizing painting time. She came running when she heard me laughing very loudly and a bit out of control in the dairy section.
By the time she got to me, I was stuffing yesterday's undies into my pocket. They'd fallen out of my sweatpants leg. Luckily (or perhaps, unluckily) it was a small town, so everyone, including the grocery store people, knew me and . . . . . well, they knew me.
It's hard to know whether it is better to lose one's body and keep ones mind till the end or the other way round. I've seen it go both ways and neither was preferable. However, it matters little, since I reckon we just don't get to choose.
I think the trick may be to grieve what we lose and move along, concentrating on the project - painting or other - ahead.
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