perspective

They put the bathrobe on Mom, put the pink and blue strap around her waist, position her walker, and she walks, hunched over, carefully shuffling her feet, slowly. She goes further every day. She blows into a machine to keep her lungs clear. She needs help getting her legs into bed. So I notice these things in my own body. I take deep conscious breaths, aware of the air filling and expanding my lungs easily and fully. I roll over onto my side in bed, then back again, then stretch languidly, like a cat. I notice my long, energetic steps, I bounce on my toes, I bend over and stretch. I am fully in my strong, healthy body, and I am aware of it, I notice it, I am grateful for my body. I don't take it for granted, because I look at my beautiful strong mother, and I remember her when I was growing up, and although this is her same body, it does not contain all of her anymore - it is tired, worn out, struggling to keep going, and I know it will not be long - it just can't do it anymore.

So the stark comparison sits on my chest today, and keeps drawing my attention to it - it will not be ignored. "I am here," it whispers. "Appreciate your life," it insists. And I listen, oh, do I listen, because I am living it with my mom - my strong, brave, beautiful, amazing mother who's struggling for every breath right now. The most amazing thing to me is that she keeps her sense of humor, suggesting that the blood doctor donate his kidney to her, because that's the only other alternative to the synthetic hormone they're injecting her with. His eyes got wide, I burst out laughing, then he got the joke, too. Maybe you're not supposed to joke about body organs, but I thought it was hip hop hilarious.

So I'm learning from her - it's not about learning how to die, it's about learning how to be in my body now, how to be fully present and aware and awake, and that is perhaps the most spiritual lesson of them all for me in this. That, and realizing how precious and tenuous life is. When I remember that, then I can be there for her - I can stroke her soft gray hair and run my fingers lightly over her forehead. I hear her murmur "mmmm" and I know it brings her comfort. That's the least I can do.