On Mother's Day -

This is my mom, Alice. She was also my neighbor for 15 years, my confidante, and she's the first person I shared my first tattoo with (breast cancer radiation points). This picture was taken in February at the care facility she is living at; she has dementia, and although all of her children have cared for her for the past 6 years, she needed more help than we could provide.

This mom, who was all business and little play, service before self, communicate with food, companionship, and listening intently, seldom giving advice, now seldom speaks. These days, she spends her time either sleeping on the couch in front of a movie, sleeping in her bedroom, or waking long enough to know, and gratefully recognize, her visitors.

Mom was a firm believer in acceptance, simplicity, talk-it-out, make it work, and there was an open invitation to anyone, anyone, to join her in the kitchen.

Mom wasn't a hugger or physically demonstrative, and I do not remember her ever saying "I love you," rather, a phone call or visit ended with "Love you." But these past 2 years, she has reached out to hold a hand, give a gentle pat on the back, and is more than willing to have someone hold her.

Mom was always good for a half a dozen hot cookies, a plate of cinnamon rolls, and she was more than willing to share her garden produce or help someone "bottle" the peaches from her amazing peach tree.

Mom's been a phone call or knock on the door away, and I miss her as my neighbor; yet watching her diminish in her abilities, and be baffled by her own inabilities and confusion has been so disheartening.

Mom loved her phone, and her phone calls to and from family took precedence over everything else - including a warm meal! And these days, she doesn't answer her phone, can't send a text, can't leave a voice message to "call me as soon as you can." Yet the texts and voice messages keep going to her, and it's a pleasure to watch her light up as she hears a familiar voice, sees pictures we send her, and nods as we read her the messages she receives.

She's diminished in size and capacity, yet her example, her words, are constantly with me; including, "When are you coming over again? It's been so long since I've seen you."

Happy Mother's day to my mom, to her lessons, to her frailty, to her willingness to serve, and in turn, now, her willingness to be served.