Friday, April 9, 2004
Shhhh...The Mom is sleeping.
I promised her I'd let her sleep until I thought she might be able to benefit from some food and liquid. "I might sleep for awhile..." she cautioned.
"That's okay. I'll be up when you awaken. It's not as though we have a schedule to keep." Although in a sense we do. Our schedule is her schedule, of which she is often not aware. Her experience is that scheduling is the province of someone outside oneself. It is my great pleasure to allow her the leeway to create her own schedule, within the limits of physical sanity, which is to say that I make sure she does not sleep herself into malnutrition or a dehydration caused blood pressure crash. Sleep, though, helps set her treatments into her body, both her acupuncture and her FT treatments. It's one of her survival tools. This is something I understand, being, myself, a dedicated advocate of sleep. It seems wise, then, for me to follow her lead and correct her only when she appears to be veering off course. She's just passed four hours, now. I'm checking on her every quarter hour or so, gauging her breathing and her position in the bed, listening for reconnaissance coughing. I don't want to awaken her too soon but I don't want her to wander through her healing sleep without proper nourishment and hydration, either. In this respect she and I have different sleep preferences. Food disturbs my sleep so I make sure I sleep on an empty stomach. Food helps her sleep so she's better off going to bed an hour or so after a meal, which she did. When I feel it's time, if she doesn't come round on her own, I'll rouse her and suggest we prepare her for the profoundly fecund slumber that occurs in the dark surround.
Continuing with her appointment: After Mom's FT revealed that she appreciated my mother's innate approach to the treatments and enjoyed the silent conversation into which she and my mother enter, she went on to explain that one reason this experience is so valuable to her is that she was raised around people who were incredibly noisy, yet offensively silent conversationalists and that this allowed little communication to occur. The ease of silent, communicative transference is, thus, a delight to her. She mentioned that treating my mother allows her to practice the ins and outs of productive silent communication, something she's indicated is rare with most of her clients. She directed most of this information to my mother and my mother got it.
"I'm so glad helping me is a help to you," my mother said, with that endearing, full-souled expression that betrays her pleasure in being able to give and receive simultaneously.
The FT responded, "You were a teacher, weren't you?"
"Yes."
"What did you teach?"
"Special Ed."
I added that throughout her career she taught everyone from kindergarteners to 8th graders, was an administrator as well, her first job was in a one-room school house with 8 grades and she taught gunnery in the Navy. As well, whether or not her classroom was officially special ed she taught special ed style. All this was superfluous, I think, considering what I realized as I rattled off these statistics. I think the FT was acknowledging that while she was teaching Mom, Mom was teaching her and their reciprocal correspondence was taking place on a level that was both verdant and productive for both.
Many years ago my mother told me that she couldn't remember ever not wanting to be a teacher, that she felt it was her calling. She has taught all her official working life. In 1973 she began considering herself a retired teacher. It appears, though, as though her calling is still guiding her journey through this life.
As of today I'm beginning to consider that no one ever retires from one's calling. When the recognized world of work eases one out of professional practice of one's calling life takes up the beckoning chant. That's what's happening for my mother. Once the specific subspace transmission acknowledging that this is happening for my mother had been exchanged between her and her FT, my mother blossomed. Her face flushed with energy. She insisted that she accompany me to the grocery despite having told me earlier that she didn't think she'd go to the store with me after her appointment. Although I had flung the wheelchair in the back for her to use as a walker she dismissed it, grabbed a cart and we headed into the store. She hasn't been out much lately and she tired quickly so the trip was short, which was fine, we had only a few items to purchase. She mentioned in the car on the way home that her back was hurting a little, but after some lunch and an aspirin she forgot the twinges.
At 2230 I called her. It took 45 minutes for her to make it to the dinette. Each five minute interval was punctuated with a notched up decision: First that she would only go to the bathroom; then she'd only come out to the kitchen for some water; then, well, maybe some soup sounded good; then, yes, it would be nice to have a leg rub before she headed back to bed; then, yes, why not indulge in some light conversation before sleep. She's just now heading back to bed, fed, watered, socialized, loved and comfortable. As I always do after either an acupuncture or Feldenkrais treatment, I'll let her sleep in tomorrow but not past a point to be determined in the morning when I first check in on her and sense the level and quality of her sleep.
As I contemplate our day today, especially from what I hope is a reasonable facsimile of my mother's point of view, I can't help but review all the possible living situations she could have chosen or into which she might have fallen (literally, as I see in arrears since 10/25/03) besides having me come to live with her and what, at this point, the outcomes of those situations would have been. I shudder to think that all the other situations in some way might very well have landed her smack dab in the middle of inadequate non-alternative medical treatment and probably in a nursing home. After today I am especially grateful that I'm here with her and that, despite the dips in our figurative fortunes, she is in a love-built household that includes specific attention to her needs rather than being housed in a profit-built facility that revolves around the needs of the owners and staff. She is in a place that allows her to continue to respond to her calling rather than a place where it is assumed that calls are neither made nor need to be answered.
It is typical for us, including (and, sometimes, most especially) The Ancient Ones among us, to assume that the lives, needs and pecadillos of The Ancients can be properly set aside on behalf of the ruddier, sturdier, and quicker among us. Isn't it normal for the elderly of most species to lay themselves down as rich compost to aid the growth of others? I'm beginning to realize the answer is, "No." Even the aged, ailing plant retains its need for fertilizer and does not release its integrity to the soil until death.
At 86, my mother's value to the rest of our species continues to surprise and expand, despite her creative mentality and frailing body. I'm astounded, humbled and honored that I am in a position to make this possible. We both needed the confirmation today brought. I could not be more pleased.
Well, to bed. Soon after sunrise Rose Planting Day will commence. Looks like I won't be changing the aforementioned link until tomorrow sometime.
Later.
"That's okay. I'll be up when you awaken. It's not as though we have a schedule to keep." Although in a sense we do. Our schedule is her schedule, of which she is often not aware. Her experience is that scheduling is the province of someone outside oneself. It is my great pleasure to allow her the leeway to create her own schedule, within the limits of physical sanity, which is to say that I make sure she does not sleep herself into malnutrition or a dehydration caused blood pressure crash. Sleep, though, helps set her treatments into her body, both her acupuncture and her FT treatments. It's one of her survival tools. This is something I understand, being, myself, a dedicated advocate of sleep. It seems wise, then, for me to follow her lead and correct her only when she appears to be veering off course. She's just passed four hours, now. I'm checking on her every quarter hour or so, gauging her breathing and her position in the bed, listening for reconnaissance coughing. I don't want to awaken her too soon but I don't want her to wander through her healing sleep without proper nourishment and hydration, either. In this respect she and I have different sleep preferences. Food disturbs my sleep so I make sure I sleep on an empty stomach. Food helps her sleep so she's better off going to bed an hour or so after a meal, which she did. When I feel it's time, if she doesn't come round on her own, I'll rouse her and suggest we prepare her for the profoundly fecund slumber that occurs in the dark surround.
Continuing with her appointment: After Mom's FT revealed that she appreciated my mother's innate approach to the treatments and enjoyed the silent conversation into which she and my mother enter, she went on to explain that one reason this experience is so valuable to her is that she was raised around people who were incredibly noisy, yet offensively silent conversationalists and that this allowed little communication to occur. The ease of silent, communicative transference is, thus, a delight to her. She mentioned that treating my mother allows her to practice the ins and outs of productive silent communication, something she's indicated is rare with most of her clients. She directed most of this information to my mother and my mother got it.
"I'm so glad helping me is a help to you," my mother said, with that endearing, full-souled expression that betrays her pleasure in being able to give and receive simultaneously.
The FT responded, "You were a teacher, weren't you?"
"Yes."
"What did you teach?"
"Special Ed."
I added that throughout her career she taught everyone from kindergarteners to 8th graders, was an administrator as well, her first job was in a one-room school house with 8 grades and she taught gunnery in the Navy. As well, whether or not her classroom was officially special ed she taught special ed style. All this was superfluous, I think, considering what I realized as I rattled off these statistics. I think the FT was acknowledging that while she was teaching Mom, Mom was teaching her and their reciprocal correspondence was taking place on a level that was both verdant and productive for both.
Many years ago my mother told me that she couldn't remember ever not wanting to be a teacher, that she felt it was her calling. She has taught all her official working life. In 1973 she began considering herself a retired teacher. It appears, though, as though her calling is still guiding her journey through this life.
As of today I'm beginning to consider that no one ever retires from one's calling. When the recognized world of work eases one out of professional practice of one's calling life takes up the beckoning chant. That's what's happening for my mother. Once the specific subspace transmission acknowledging that this is happening for my mother had been exchanged between her and her FT, my mother blossomed. Her face flushed with energy. She insisted that she accompany me to the grocery despite having told me earlier that she didn't think she'd go to the store with me after her appointment. Although I had flung the wheelchair in the back for her to use as a walker she dismissed it, grabbed a cart and we headed into the store. She hasn't been out much lately and she tired quickly so the trip was short, which was fine, we had only a few items to purchase. She mentioned in the car on the way home that her back was hurting a little, but after some lunch and an aspirin she forgot the twinges.
At 2230 I called her. It took 45 minutes for her to make it to the dinette. Each five minute interval was punctuated with a notched up decision: First that she would only go to the bathroom; then she'd only come out to the kitchen for some water; then, well, maybe some soup sounded good; then, yes, it would be nice to have a leg rub before she headed back to bed; then, yes, why not indulge in some light conversation before sleep. She's just now heading back to bed, fed, watered, socialized, loved and comfortable. As I always do after either an acupuncture or Feldenkrais treatment, I'll let her sleep in tomorrow but not past a point to be determined in the morning when I first check in on her and sense the level and quality of her sleep.
As I contemplate our day today, especially from what I hope is a reasonable facsimile of my mother's point of view, I can't help but review all the possible living situations she could have chosen or into which she might have fallen (literally, as I see in arrears since 10/25/03) besides having me come to live with her and what, at this point, the outcomes of those situations would have been. I shudder to think that all the other situations in some way might very well have landed her smack dab in the middle of inadequate non-alternative medical treatment and probably in a nursing home. After today I am especially grateful that I'm here with her and that, despite the dips in our figurative fortunes, she is in a love-built household that includes specific attention to her needs rather than being housed in a profit-built facility that revolves around the needs of the owners and staff. She is in a place that allows her to continue to respond to her calling rather than a place where it is assumed that calls are neither made nor need to be answered.
It is typical for us, including (and, sometimes, most especially) The Ancient Ones among us, to assume that the lives, needs and pecadillos of The Ancients can be properly set aside on behalf of the ruddier, sturdier, and quicker among us. Isn't it normal for the elderly of most species to lay themselves down as rich compost to aid the growth of others? I'm beginning to realize the answer is, "No." Even the aged, ailing plant retains its need for fertilizer and does not release its integrity to the soil until death.
At 86, my mother's value to the rest of our species continues to surprise and expand, despite her creative mentality and frailing body. I'm astounded, humbled and honored that I am in a position to make this possible. We both needed the confirmation today brought. I could not be more pleased.
Well, to bed. Soon after sunrise Rose Planting Day will commence. Looks like I won't be changing the aforementioned link until tomorrow sometime.
Later.
