she’s eating, pooping and best of all laughing! we’ve turned a corner…it was a dark and scary corner, but i think she made the turn. the lights were dark, and it felt lonely. she thought about turning back and giving up, i know she did, i saw it in her eyes. but on thursday, i can almost touch the very minute she decided to keep going. she took my hand, and decided to keep on fighting. we faced that fearful corner, and she made the courageous turn.
it happened the same day that i decided to enjoy my minutes with her, and to make each of her moments special. i wasn’t going to make her live, i was just going to enjoy my time with her. whether it was a simple ‘good girl’ when she took a sip of water, or a little dance when she ate a bite of her food, or the sharing of a memory from my childhood…i was just going to make the most of those precious moments, simple as that.
i took her to the park, fed her her favorite sushi and slices of ginger, soaked up the sun and fed the birds our crumbs.
spending the last few days by her side has taught me so much -mostly the healing power of being in gratitude, simple, beautiful gratitude. and that we have choices. we can choose to cry, or we can choose to laugh. we can choose to be a victim, or we can choose to be a fighter.
yesterday i had to step away for a couple of hours to teach, and i left my dad in charge, with the caregivers on alert. i told my mom to relax, sleep, listen to music. when i returned, they were both lying in bed – my dad shouting, and my mom trying her best to talk.
i felt like the mom who walks into the room to find her toddlers taunting each other, “what is going on here?,” i asked firmly, with my hands on my hips. my dad, embarrassed that i heard him yelling, quickly stopped. and my mom, instead of her usual tears, broke out in giggles.
she just started giggling. i wish you could have heard her giggles. it truly is contagious. and now that she can’t talk, her giggle is packed with so many wonderful messages. and i started giggling with her, and before long my dad joined in. we giggled til our tears flowed. and i asked, “what’s so funny?” and she laughed some more.
we do have choices. their routine is mommy tries to say something, my dad can’t understand, he yells. she cries.
this time, she chose a different reaction. she chose to laugh. she accepted that no one understands her, and instead of falling into the frustration of it all, she decided to eat, to drink, to make the most of what she has – a broken, aging body that doesn’t work the way she wants it to, but a family who loves her dearly -and she decided to laugh.
for the rest of the day, i just had to say, “what’s so funny?” and within seconds we were giggling.