Spending Time With Mom

As I read all the wonderful entries on this blog, it makes me feel so nostalgic, thinking of my Christmases through the years. Not surprisingly, my mother was the central figure of all the Christmas preparations when I was a kid. She did a great job though letting all the children contribute to the Christmas decorating, however it came out. She was always so appreciative and encouraging. Thinking back now I can hear her voice directing action in the kitchen like a conductor leads an orchestra, everything coming together at just the right time. So capable and resilient. So loving in every which way.

Prior to marrying my father, my mother lived an exciting life as a single career women during WWII, working for the FBI on both coasts and having lots of off-hours fun at the beach with the other women and the agents. As a kid, I used to try to picture that part of her life, having a little trouble reconciling it with the model homemaker side of her I knew.

Through the last ten years, my relationship with my mother has changed. Little by little her memory has been stripped away by the thief known as Alzheimer's disease. It has progressed slowly with a variety of stages, and a lesson for me in each step: patience, courage, understanding, and a humble gratitude and admiration for my sister who is her primary care-giver.

My Mom, happily, is still central to my Christmas. Each November my sisters and I discuss when and where to visit considering what would be least disorienting to her. Usually the visit is brief but sweet. Her cheery eyes and warm smile take me back to my childhood and I comforted by just sitting close to her. She's lost those memories of WWII and the Great Depression. She no longer tells me stories of the men returning from war and of the 1938 hurricane. In fact, she no longer knows my name or recognizes me as her daughter. She delights in entertainment and toys designed for children. Stripped of most memory, agility and many basic abilities, she who has been my greatest source of love and comfort, has be come like a infant in many ways. Yet the comfort and love are still there. I feel it when I smell her and when I hear her voice. I see my mother like the Christ child: Jesus was vulnerable baby that night of his birth, yet the source of eternal comfort and joy. When I am with my Mom, I feel closer to Jesus.

Jackie Farrell