Make Every Moment Count

Sitting at my laptop listening to an OM meditation, trying to sooth my raising mind. 

I want to make sense of death. Two month to the day my father died. Two days ago, I came home to a phone call from my brother, saying that my mom has died. She put her hands to her heart in front of the grocery store and fell over backwards. She died instantly. 

I always wanted her to die without suffering, thank you. But what a shock.

What a shock it must be for her, I wonder? One moment she was living the next dead. 

Is there life after death? What was I doing when she died? How come I did not feel any different at this moment? 

Mary and I have been talking about the intelligence that creates us humans. I am not a scientist, but it is pretty amazing when we imagine how out of sperm and egg cells grow and eventually, in the case of a human, a human will develop. 

Even though, our body appears solid, we are more filled with holes then we think. Therefore, is it possible after the intelligence has left this constricted, sometimes painful body for it to enter a moving ocean (a word I like to use)?

Questions........

Is death an opportunity for the living? I think so, but did I need so quickly after the first opportunity a kick in the behind?

My mom and my day were over 60 years together. Mom would have turned 89 on the coming Monday. She was, the last four years as my dad's dementia progressed his main caregiver, this is what she wanted to do, needed to do, her path. When he was diagnosed with dementia she did not comprehend that he would not get better. Her world as she understood it fell apart. After he had died, her life pupose seemed to have died with him. 

My mom grew up in Hungary, lived there till she was seventeen. War! She and her dad were taking to a prisoner of war camp into Russia. Her dad died there shortly after their arrival. She was a survivor! Surviving three years of a prisoner of war camp in Russia as a young girl, amazing. When she arrived back in Hungary after the war, her mother was deported to Germany. She made up her mind to follow her, with a stop over in Austria's prison (illegal crossing of boarder), and working on a farm to earn more money in order to continue her journey. Amazing endurance! Finally she did arrive in Germany. She lived in the same village for over 60 years. She loved to garden, cook, but would not tolerate much interference. She approached life in a practical kind of way, however, I remember her also as a curious and adventuresome kind of person. Work was her path in life. Without work, who would she have been? Who could she have been?

Our visits were often strained but when I was supporting her during my father's funeral we developed a warmth that had not been there. It was hard to leave her, not knowing....

Control, death makes it clear how limited our control is... not existing.

I love you mom!  

 

Father

 

How many times have I imaged this call over the last 20 years, how will I feel, so far away. How will it be traveling for 16 hours? Arriving exhausted? Dealing with the funeral arrangements? Facing my mom and her grief?  Thank you adrenaline! 

 

When it came, I knew, 

I had not slept well in the night. Nevertheless, time changes, reality changes, another universe opens up when death happens. 

 

My father has died.

He had been suffering from Dementia for about 5 years, but in the last couple of month it has become to much for my mom and he had to be transferred into a full time care facility,  a unit for people with Alzheimer and Dementia. When visiting the unit, I told myself, he didn't know anymore where he was, to comfort myself.

Yes, he could no longer express himself, but was he aggressive because of it? I don't know, and I don't want to go down this road, to slippery, to dangerous for my mental health. 

 

After visiting the Alzheimer/Dementia unit, I felt deep pain and fear, I needed to get out, walk in the soft rain. Wanting to walk fast, breath hard, feel, I am still living. Walk and forget the woman holding on to me with her panic, while walking up and down the corridor. 

 

Breathing air, fresh air, 

defying aging,

walking fast, see I can still  

arrogant

however, I was already an hour older,

every second aging me

the unit a memory 

I am bound to forget.

 

The corridor, white, up and down, like ghosts, the people walk. My Dad, his spirit still sticks to these walls. 

Another man is in the room my Dad occupied, he doesn't look good, how long will he still have to suffer?

 

 When I was in Germany, my care was with my mom, making sure she is alright and are able to continue on. She is, she always was a survivor, what strength.

 

 

  

Photo of Mom when she was around 22 years of age.

Watercolour monotype print 5"x4" Mom

A Call Home to Sing Happy Birthday!

Today is my mom's birthday! 88 years old, well done mom!

She is looking after my father, who has a diagnosis of dementia. A couple of years ago, we reacted to an incident with my father's health and moved my parents out of their home of over 40 years into assistant living. Not an easy task for them.

My mom, who as always relayed on my dad is choosing to look after my dad on her own. A survivor! Having survived a 3 year labour camp in Russia when she was only 17 years old, burring her father while in the camp, and coming home to Hungary where her mother had been deported to Germany. Fending for herself to follow her mom after the war to Germany. Yes, she is a survivor! 

Today, Mary and I called and we were singing full of joy "Happy Birthday!" to her. She did not know who I was. It didn't click. We were talking, I felt her brain trying to put me somewhere. I asked again, if she knew who I was, "not really", she said. I felt like a stranger invading a private party. So, we said our goodbyes, with the promise that I will call next Saturday again, as usual. 

Let it be a day of  celebration, for the people we have in our lives, so we will not forget them so quickly!

The Life that could have been

I have been reflecting on my parents and my mortality and have come to the conclusion that I need to prepare myself in any way I can for the unavoidable in life - death or dieing. I will keep you posted on how I make out.
I have looked at my father's life and created some mono-prints and woodcuts. Let me know what you think. When I read it to my partner she went, "Oh, it is great, but so dark". So, here it goes.

The Life that could have been

Hungary in the late 1920’s, twins are born. 

The father, a loyal country man, the mother not well,

something to do with the heart and the lung.

There was one more brother, however, he died.

Also his mother and his twin brother died - He was alone with his father. 

His father took another wife, and the twin became one of many -twelve half-brothers and sisters.

The Second World War broke out,

 the twin was too young to take part in the fighting,

 he had his own war to fight;

his father defended their home country.

 Defeated ,they were deported from Hungary to Germany.

The twin was a young man by now, what is in his future?

What kind of life can he expect, having experienced the amount of lose he had felt?

Striving  toward security;

he needed possessions  -

identified himself through his possessions.

He was a sensitive young man,

but was there place in his life for this sensitivity.

Hurt by life,

abandoned by his mother,

 not protected by his father –

while feeling alone within the crowed of his half-brothers and half-sisters.

What could have been?

 A twin celebrating his sensitivity, trusting in life and the goodness of people.

Creating meaningful relationships with his children, friends, and half-sisters and brothers.

 Understanding that possessions are not what a person is remembered by.

Taking life by its handkerchief and swirling it flamboyantly around,

 but how could he?

 With his heart filled with sadness and not understanding.

Now, he is living his life out with a diagnosis of Dementia,

 remembering his early years with tears in his eyes.

How hard life can be.