Morning thoughts

As of yesterday, my mom can no longer leave her bed. She can't sit up on her own. She rarely drinks more than a sip of water or protein shake, and her body is using its own tissue for energy. It's decommissioning itself. I've always known we are just inhabitants of our bodies; it's just what we are driving now. But I've never been shown this concept so clearly.

Over these past weeks, I've been looking at slides and photos of my mom as a baby, a girl, a teenager, and as a new mom in her 20s. I wish I could know what she was like then. I know she was different than she was in the years I've known her--we all change so much over the time we're alive. And so I wonder: What was my mom like as a little girl? In what ways was she cute? Obnoxious? Was she girly or a tomboy? And what was she like as a teenager? Was she sullen or vibrant? What did my father see when he first beheld her across a crowded restaurant--what spark? How did she talk, and what were her favorite places to go? What brand of makeup did she wear, where did she hide her diaries? Where are those diaries now?

My older sister tells me she remembers far back into her childhood, back when Mom was still married to my sister's father and they all lived in Salinas. He didn't contribute his money to the household, so to keep her two youngsters' diets healthy Mom used to park her car by the roadside late at night, on her way home after she'd finished her work shift, and steal vegetables from the fields. Later, when she could afford to buy everything in grocery stores, she'd get what was on sale. It took her until I as in my 30s to be able to consistently buy what she wanted, rather than what was discounted. It wasn't that she was poor; it's just that she finally relaxed.

My sister's theory about why my mom is lingering is that she finally gets some time to just do nothing. She doesn't seem to have unfinished business with anyone, nor we with her. But now she doesn't have to worry about how she'll feed her children, how she'll keep a marriage together, make the mortgage, deal with teenagers, keep a business running, get her roof patched, car fixed, cats vaccinated, carpets cleaned, paintings framed. I don't know about my sister's theory--this is a helluva way to get some down time. I think my mom would much rather have gotten another trip to San Miguel or Italy. Who knows: Maybe she's there right now in her thoughts. What I'm sure of is that she's ready to be away. And so we help her prepare for her journey, and we wait, handkerchiefs ready, to wave her away from the shore.