Things that Mom taught me have become sacred.
My hands remind me of hers: folding laundry, cutting vegetables, watering my garden, hemming a pair of pants with needle and thread. I even see her handwriting in my own.
I feel sad when the memories trickle in, but also very very grateful. I honor her by doing the things that she taught me to do. She was my earliest role model and my first teacher.
Alzheimer's has stolen so much from us, but it hasn't swallowed her completely. I still have the opportunity to express love to her.
This weekend we shared blackberries as I picked them in my parents' backyard. I brushed her hair.We went on a picnic and I helped her dip her Dairy Queen chicken strips in ketchup. I held out my arm to steady her in and out of the car. I buckled her seat belt.
Even though these mundane things can push me to the brink of frustration and I feel short tempered, I wouldn't trade those little exchanges for anything.
I love you, Mom.