It Happened on Mother’s Day
By Jackie Garvin
He had been planning for the special occasion for weeks. The children, now teenagers, seemed more interested in themselves than anyone else at times, but were on-board with the game plan. Mother’s Day would be special this year. It would be a day long celebration of family, memories and pampering.
He awoke on Mother’s Day to a quiet house. As he walked to the bedrooms to awaken the children, he wondered what their response would be. While they were excited to help with the planning, that excitement might not carry them through the protest of being awakened at such an early hour. Much to his delight, both children cheerfully responded to the wake-up call. He knew this day was special to them, but, until now, he had no idea how much.
The day would start with her favorite breakfast: bacon, eggs and toast. He would cook the bacon crispy, just the way she like it. The girl child would add a little cream and cheddar cheese to the scrambled eggs to dress them up for such a special occasion. Toast was the responsibility of the boy child. On his own accord, he had purchased gourmet blackberry preserves because he knew how she loved them. Orange juice was poured into a stemmed glass and set on their best tray. The breakfast meal was displayed on her favorite rose patterned china plate. A crisply starched linen napkin held the silverware. As the breakfast tray was inspected to make sure it was perfect, the girl child thought about the Magnolia tree in the front yard that was in full bloom. She grabbed the kitchen shears and quickly ran outside to snip the biggest, most perfect blossom she could find. The lemony scented flower was placed along the top of the tray. Now, the breakfast tray was complete. It met with approval from all three special occasion planners.
They scurried down the hall to her bedroom and found her still sleeping soundly. They took their places next to her bedside. He held the breakfast tray and was flanked by both children. Spoken gently so as not startle her, he said, “Wake up, Mom. Wake up. It’s Mother’s Day.” As she opened her eyes, he said, “Happy Mother’s Day!” On cue and in unison, the children chimed, “Happy Mother’s Day, Nana!”
She pushed back the covers and stared inquisitively at the three visitors. He said, “Mom, I’m your son and today is Mother’s Day. Your grandchildren and I made your favorite breakfast. Are you hungry?”
The barren look on her face took away any doubts that she recognized her family members that stood before her. She had long since lost the ability to communicate. Most days, she couldn’t remember how to feed herself. All three special occasion planners wanted to take part in feeding her this exceptional Mother’s Day meal. They took turns feeding her as they told her the name of the particular food they contributed as well reminding her of each of their names. Her blank look, while excruciatingly familiar, still hurt them to the core. Severe dementia had divested her of her personality and identity. It had robbed her family of their mother and grandmother.
His mind was split between two worlds. In the happy world, he delighted in seeing his children take leave from their self-absorption and share their time and love unselfishly with their grandmother who loved them dearly. The mean world reminded him of the woman who nurtured and protected him, taught him manners, insisted on kindness, encouraged and supported him. She taught him how to be strong when she lost the love of her life after many decades of marriage. When the horrid side of life reared its ugly face to him and he was suddenly a single dad with two young children, she didn’t hesitate to move in to share child rearing responsibilities. He despised the mean world and its constant illustration of how much had been taken away. Once a strong independent woman, she now had to rely on others for her very existence.
A beautiful spot in the yard next to the kitchen garden that she had created was chosen as the venue for the next chapter in today’s celebration. It was a spot that she had loved. She could frequently be found tending to the garden or entertaining family and friends at a table she had dragged from the garage and covered with a white linen table cloth. Flowers, herbs and vegetables once found a home in the garden and benefitted from her gardening talents. The dining table was always brightened up with fresh cut flowers. Herbs and vegetables bolstered her passion for cooking.
The kitchen garden, mostly neglected these days, was weeded and spruced up for today’s event. He had brought out the same table and linen cloth that she had used so many times. The table cloth boastfully showed off permanent stains of red wine, gravy and tomatoes. Each stain represented a story of good food and happy times. He couldn’t bear to part with it.
He and the children had chosen a few of their favorite photographs to share with her in hopes of sparking a little bit of her long lost personality. The photos had been placed in a cardboard box and the box was placed on top of the table. Of the three of them, he had the greatest number of photographs. Searching through the old pictures brought on an unyielding sadness. He was reminded of the vibrancy of his mother and the stark contrast to her current status.
He began showing her pictures and reminding her of the events surrounding the photo. She didn’t seem interested and appeared to be focused on a pair of cardinals hopping about the lawn in search of bugs and worms. As each minute passed and she continued to seem disinterested, his heart began to break. The hopes of having his mother back, if only for a few moments, seemed futile. They all had hoped the pictures would stir her memory and bring her back to them.
As he neared the bottom of his stack of pictures, he noticed that she had stopped focusing on objects in the distance. Her gaze centered on the pictures instead.
She continued to gaze intently at the pictures as the girl child took her turn sharing pictures and stories. Her eyes never moved up to the girl child’s face, but yet, stayed focused on the pictures. Her attention turned to the boy child’s pictures as he began his turn to share. Just as with the girl child, she showed no interest in his face but didn’t take her eyes off the photos. While her face remained emotionless, the intensity of her stare communicated volumes despite her inability to speak. She connected with the photos. The mind that seemed to be lost in another world was, once again, reunited with her current surroundings.
The frailty of her body was no match for the busyness of the morning. It was time to help her back into bed for a morning nap. They gathered the photos and placed them in the cardboard box on top of the table. He wrapped his arms under her arms and around her back to help her stand. As he turned to walk toward her bedroom, she kept facing in the direction of the picture box on the table and fixed her gaze upon the box with the keen sense of protection of a mother keeping a watchful eye on a curious toddler. She never looked in the direction they were walking. The box held her complete attention. The girl child retrieved the box and walked along side her as she was being guided to the bedroom. Once seated on the side of her bed, she regarded the box as it was placed in the top drawer of her bedside table.
He propped her up comfortably in her bed. “Mom, you rest here for a little bit. I’m afraid we’ve gotten you too tired this morning”, he said as he stroked her tiny, wrinkled hands. “I’ll come back in a little bit and check on you.”
He turned to the others and said, “She won’t take her eyes off the top drawer. Those pictures mean something to her.” They freely shared the sweet emotion of the moment and retreated to the living room to laugh, cry and keep the moment in time alive for as long as humanly possible.
After some time had passed, they walked to the bedroom to check on the sweet lady who meant so much to them. To their surprise, they found the picture box lying beside her in the bed. On her lap lay all the pictures. Her folded hands were atop the pictures as if to secure them and keep them from harm. Her closed eyes and relaxed breathing told them she was sleeping comfortably. The girl child, overcome with emotion, burst from the room so as not to awaken her precious grandmother. He and the boy child were overwhelmed and stood with their mouths agape. They stood silently as their tears dropped to the floor and they listened to sobs of the girl child coming from outside the room.
Still engulfed in the fog of emotion, he noticed that the pictures were carefully stacked and organized with the edges in perfect alignment. Out of sheer curiosity, he removed the pictures from beneath her protective hands.
“Look at the picture she has on top. It’s one of my baby pictures that was always one of her favorites.”
As he sorted through the pictures, careful not to disturb the order, he noticed that all pictures were grouped. First, came all his pictures, then the girl child’s pictures followed by pictures of the boy child. Upon closer examination, he noticed something more sensational than the simple grouping of the photos. They were in perfect chronological order! Starting with his baby picture and going through the most recent picture of the boy child, they were sequenced. The loosening of dementia’s vice grip had been more profound than any one of them could have imagined.
If only for a fleeting moment, she had reconnected with them. Her communication, although non-verbal, had reminded them that her identity as mother and grandmother had not been lost. They had been unable to reach any other dimension of her personality for quite some time, but, the mother and grandmother in her had broken the iron chains that held her captive in a vicious cruel world. The irony of timing wasn’t lost on them. It happened on Mother’s Day.