I’m at the Seattle-Tacoma airport now, about to board a flight to Chicago. In the last weeks of wallowing lazily in the bosom of Anacortes’ wonderland of nature, many things occurred.
As you know, dear readers, I cycled through a tremendous amount of fear. My fabulous dad, so wise & loving, pointed out to me that one area I kept repeating was my concern for my mom & her health. Cancer has likely returned to her brain, in a new area. While she claims her Parkinson’s has gotten better, and she’s responding to the medication well, her speech has declined.
This journey may take me 2 years or more to complete. It’s very possible I will not see my mother again before she dies.
It was when my father simply reflected back what he heard, that the deeper nature of my fear was not seeing my mom before she passed away. Once the decision was made, even before booking the flights, I felt so much better. It gave me momentum, movement. I had a purpose. With this activity, this relief of any potential guilt I was setting myself up for, there are no restrictions but to move forward.
Back to the “motherland” I fly, to the Midwest: land of flat plains, prairie grasses, and men of little words. Back to the hustle & bustle of the metropolis on Lake Michigan, the smelly Chicago River, the abundant outdoor festivals. Back to my cousins, whom I love like brothers & sisters, more now than ever before with Mickey being gone.
My mom doesn’t want to face it, doesn’t want me to be so far away from her. It’s understandable since she just lost a child. No matter what people say about “acceptance”, there is something cosmically wrong with things when a child passes away before a parent. But, it happens all the time.
I don’t feel ready to have the “conversation” with her, but it must be done. All my cameras & recording devices are in my carry-on. Maybe we’ll film something, maybe we won’t. Maybe she’ll want to say something, maybe she won’t.
But, I know what I need to say.