Now

My father says that there is only one perfect view — the view of the sky straight over our heads. – E. M. Forster

January 1, 2025

With one flip of the calendar from 2024 to 2025, my mood flipped too. Yesterday I was sullen and covered with the dust of too many memories. The entire month of December had been spent unpacking memories in the form of ornaments and other holiday decorations. Each brass reindeer, wool felt snowman, and porcelain angel had been a gift from a friend or family member and most of them had been from my mom. 2024 was our first full year without her physically in the material realm. Missing her was the muzak in the background of every special event as well as my daily fare, and in December that tune was loud and symphonic. By the 31st, just yesterday, I was so swampy with precious memories that I could barely get out of bed. 

Today, with one flip of the calendar and in agreement that the year is new, my entire playlist changed. Rather than caressing the past, I careened into the future with tasks, goals, and dreams rampaging through my head.

Whoa! Girl, take a pause. Breathe. (That’s why I’m writing.)

In 2023, I cared for my mom during her decline. It was a scary and wonderful experience that was replete with more gifts than I’ve unwrapped, as of yet. My mom had dementia. It took me a long while to learn to meet her where she was rather than to coax or contrive to bring her back to her former, highly efficient senses. But, when my frightened child self or controlling (aka frightened) adult self could step aside and allow her to be, I learned so much. 

As part of our routine, I would take her for walks around the block of her housing complex two or three times a day. For the first third of the circle, invariably my head would be spinning while rehashing all the shocking things I’d witnessed in previous days like finding her cocooned in blankets with an armload of framed photographs wandering the halls of her house at 3AM or discovering her dressed for the day in multiple layers of pajamas and street clothes, a slipper on one foot and a shoe on the other. Naturally, I was traumatized and needed to process. Then, in the second third of the walk, I’d fret about the future and how my family and I were ever going to be able to continue to care for her in her home. 

At some point, I’d feel my mom’s little hand in mine – she always held my hand when we walked – and I’d hear her marveling over the beauty of the sky. Finally, she’d break into song, “Blue skies smilin’ at me, Nothing but blue skies do I see,” and she’d poke my shoulder until I joined her. We’d sing and I’d notice that the sky overhead was indeed a glorious blue. It was as bright and blue as my mother’s twinkling eyes, and, in that moment, all was well. In fact, it was wonderful. And because she had called me to the present – to be where my feet were – and not churning over the past or fretting about the future, I am now blessed with clear and precious memories of my mom’s hand in mine and her song and her sky blue eyes.

The sky is overcast right now, oh, actually, it’s dark. Maybe it’s time to take down the tree, to pack those glistening memories away, and clear the way for new endeavors. Or not. Maybe it’s just time to snuggle with the dog and breathe and be well, right here, right now, for a moment.

Happy First Day of 2025, my friends! May you enjoy health and peace and presence throughout.