Time Passages Hydrangeas is drying on the easel in Flower Mound Studio while that old song floats around in my head. My sister told me today that mom is starting to get a bit confused, and when you tell her something, she cannot always repeat back to you exactly what you said. Mom is end-stage COPD, a lifetime smoker with asthma. Her last two hospital stays were frightening, and her doctor, an extraordinary man with six children who runs a free clinic on weekends in a low income area for the poor, told us to prepare ourselves. She has been sleeping more lately, but still makes an occasional excursion to the grocery store with her portable oxygen.
Mom is still solidly in charge of her kitchen, ensuring her 40 plus year old daughters pour up the iced tea properly, and do not overcook the dinner rolls. But the fire is beginning to fade a tiny bit, and this fills my heart with such sorrow. I bought a book last year called Conversations With Your Mother. Over time I would bring it over and when she was in the mood, she'd answer some of the questions for me. When I brought it to her house last weekend, she only had one word answers for most of the questions. I am hoping she will be feeling better next weekend when I visit again. How I wish I could go back 10 years in time, and be given back those days and days with her. For now, I am very thankful, though, for the time we have.