Caught

(from a prompt given us by Andrea Beard of Creative Life Writing 6-15-11

She caught my heartstrings on her words this morning. Mom is often a chatterbox in the early hours. Perhaps enough rest eases the swelling in her post stroke brain so her words flow more freely. But usually the words make no sense.

I caught her warm hand in my cool one arranging myself as comfortably as I could while bending over the hospital bed rail with my head at her eye level and my feet on the floor. Some urgent beckoning in her eyes marked a shift in her demeanor. 

She said, “I don’t know who I am now. I don’t know where I live.”

 “That could feel frightening… not to know these things, Ma. You’ll always be my wonderful mama… Barbara Freeman Stern Maxwell Kovner. You’re living with Mark and me and beautiful Ellen who cares for you so elegantly. You used to live with Ritchie. Now you live here with us. We’re so glad you are here!”

She squeezed my hand and searched my face with her good left eye.

“I don’t know how to help.”

“The way you’re helping is by taking each moment to savor what’s good… what makes you feel good. You’ve helped so many people in your lifetime now you can spend your time sifting and sorting the events of your rich and long 92 years!”

“I don’t know what my mouth is doing.” 

There were tears in her eyes.

“Yes, Mom…  I hear your words. You had an electrical storm in your brain seven and a half years ago. It caught you by surprise and hurt your speech center and left your right side un-moveable. It must be hard for a poet to have no words now; hard for a concert pianist not to play. We, your family, understand much of what you say because you’re so expressive with your face and that good left hand and because we want to understand because we love you!”

Another squeeze of my hand.

“We know we are loved by the squeeze of a hand, by the vibration of dancing (I rock her bed rhythmically with my hip) and by the sound of singing and music. Remember when Nik, Alex, Andrew and Brenden (her grandsons) played for you Saturday? That’s pure love.”

She closes her eyes, still squeezing my hand and brings both our hands to her mouth.

“There’s nothing you have to do, mom, except maybe eat breakfast – because I can tell by the sound of the blender stopping that Ellen has it ready for you.”

I was caught by surprise by mom’s sudden lucidity… a fleeting moment. 

I catch hold of the deliciousness of real connection and tuck it into my heart pocket. I am filled so full my eyes overflow.