Lasts

We never know when they will be, the lasts; the last time we do something, see someone, feel a certain way. As we get older, we fear that each time might be the last; will my 15 year old dog make it to next spring? Will I see my relatives on the other side of the planet again? Will I ever return to Cambodia? Will a violent act like a school shooting take someone near and dear all too soon?

And of course, there is my mom, front and centre in these thoughts. Documenting my visits with my mother have made the lasts last; the pedicure, the hair coloring, neither of which I knew to be lasts but mom no longer has the patience to sit through either of those things, so it is sweet to me that I captured those lasts. Now, I take her for quick haircuts that slowly take the final remnants of color away, and I sit on the floor in her room giving her pedicures while she strokes my hair and bends down to kiss my head.  I do these things happily, knowing one day it will be the last time I do so, but hopefully not for a while yet.

I haven't blogged for some time becasue the pain has subsided and we have settled into a routine of sorts. Even though I show up there some days and still feel overwhelmingly emotional that my mom is so lost, and so alone so much of the time, I have to believe it is the best place for her and that ultimately the moment we walk out that door, she doesn't remember we were there. But who is to know? I mean really know?

We have a webcam in the room which as I have discovered is a new form of torture. I log in and see her sitting at the edge of her bed kissing photos of my sister and I over an over, and instantly feel like a horrible daughter for sitting in the comfort of my own home instead of with her. My cheek is but a ten minute drive away from those lips, but I cannot be there all the time. I have a home that has been so sorely neglected, a forgiving and patient husband who has been equally so, three dogs that depend on me, a part time job, a business to build and let's not forget a self to take care of, without whom all of the above would suffer- not the least of whom would be my mom.

But I hold onto the small wins like when I see the joy and recognition in her face when I walk in her room.  Like when she pulls me close with her strong arms to kiss me, every minute or two. Like when she  holds my hand as I walk with her down the hall. Like when she holds up 40-year-old photos and still knows which one is me.

She dresses, bathes and grooms herself fairly well still, and needs no help in polishing off a meal uber fast. She enjoys tastes, smells and touches and still smiles and laughs when I do funny things. I hold on to these things becasue I have them still, but not sure for how long.

Mom, for now, I know you are still in there somewhere, and I hope to God it lasts. But if it doesn't, and the recognition an kisses stop, I will still be there, to the last...