I Can’t Give You Anything But Love

Written Fri. 30 March 2012

I’m experiencing one of the strangest times of my life. My mother, who lives in the granny flat on our premises, has become different over the past week. She’s been a remarkable octogenarian, often with so much energy, I wondered if she’d got her age wrong! Until a few weeks ago, my mom was hopping onto the train, walking around in Claremont, her favourite shopping area, and going to shows with her friends, all at least 30 years her junior. Not only did she attend shows, but she also sang at concerts. She did her own cooking, cleaning and laundry, and, every single day, played the piano, singing along in her still-beautiful soprano voice, a true legend.

I often thought about how much time she spent on her own, when she wasn’t on the go with her friends (or any of us), and I accepted that, like me, she really enjoyed being alone. As long as I heard that piano, I knew she was doing what she loved – making music.

She hasn’t played the piano since Saturday, when I first noticed that she was suddenly looking tired, very old, and that she’d become withdrawn. I asked if there was anything wrong, if she had any pain, and she assured me that she had no pain, and that she was just feeling “lazy”. In fact, that’s what she always says, but then she just continues her usual activities, like someone twenty years younger.

On Sunday she was the same, and I told her I’d make an appointment with the doctor in the morning, as she’d been talking about having a general check-up for a while. We went to the doctor the next day (Monday 26 March) and there was nothing that the doctor could pick up that indicated any sort of sickness or ailment. Her heart was fine, her blood pressure was normal, there was no diabetes - in fact, my mom was extremely healthy! After the doctor, we went to Steenberg Village for a light lunch, and she enjoyed the sunny day, constantly commenting on the view, asking me about Ou Kaapse Weg, where it went to, etc. She ordered her usual toasted chicken mayo sandwich, but finished the chips and the salad and only ate one of the toast triangles. I made sure she took the doggie bag home, this time.  She was ok, but definitely not her usual, sparkly, feisty self. I tried not to ask her every few minutes if she was ok – I could see my concern was annoying her.

My mom’s memory’s been failing, in a pronounced way, for the past two years or so, with the past year showing a dramatic increase in severity. She remembers the distant past very well, but not recent things, and conversations often double-back, as we cover the same items over and over again.

My sister and I have come to the conclusion that my mom might be depressed, as old people often do become, when they slow down to the extent where they can’t mask their depression anymore. This is a topic which I won’t write about, for now. My mom’s never been sick, other than the usual cold and flu episodes, so we’re not used to her being incapacitated at all. Seeing her like this is weird. She doesn’t want to get up, so stays in bed all the time, and when we question her, she says she’s “tired”. She hasn’t been eating properly, for at least two days, and I’m afraid things can’t go on like this without serious intervention very soon. Like tomorrow!

I’ve often been accused of being too personal in my blog posts. Well, it’s my choice not to live in denial, but rather to be in touch with all the shades of emotions I experience. Right now, I’ve hit a low point, and writing is my refuge. My kids are away, and I’m alone. My mom’s a few metres away, but in her own place. I’m worried sick about her, but all I can do is wait for the morning, to pop in and see how she is.

I know for a fact that I don’t want to be alone for the rest of my life; I liked having a partner, for all the right reasons. I was happy for a long time and thought I had found “the one”. The fact that that relationship ended disastrously doesn’t make me a different person – it just makes me a lot more cautious and, yes, probably more cynical. But I’m still the person who loved someone with my entire being, who invested myself in him, who grew to know the beauty that comes from a harmonious union, and who learnt, when the power imbalance became ridiculous, that I needed to create some space in order to honour myself. The true test of that kind of ‘experiment’ is what the other person does to fill the space you’ve created. It’s quite simple, really: some people pass the test, and others don’t. I’m still the same person, though.

Right now, I feel alone. Usually that doesn’t mean the same as lonely, to me, but this time it does. I’m so freaked out by my mom’s condition, so ignorant as to the way to deal with this (my sister is busy making an appointment with people skilled in these things), so scared and so vulnerable, I wish I had someone I could lean on. It’s 1a.m., and I’m alone. This time, I’m not enjoying it. Every now and then, when the burden of staying strong in the face of adversity starts to overwhelm me, I miss having a partner to help me through the really tough times.

When the time is right, I want to share my life with someone deserving of my kind of love and loyalty, someone who’ll get the balance right between space and togetherness, without a fuss. Someone who’ll understand that music is my oxygen, and that my children are always going to come first in my life – that it never has been, and never will be, a competition: parental love is different to partner love.

I don’t want to live a life of denial. I don’t want to pretend I’m ok when I’m not. I don’t want to hide the fact that sometimes I’m insecure and sad, filled with regrets and as-yet-unfulfilled dreams.

And even though I will get up tomorrow and bravely tackle the new day, with all things wonderful and mundane, and I’ll once again smile and sincerely believe that anything’s possible, it doesn’t mean I don’t feel like shit right now.

I’ve come to realize, in the past week, that, when it matters most, when you strip away all the things that money can buy, that just don’t make a damned difference, the only thing we can really give is our love.

My mother has been there for me every step of the way, for my entire life. It’s indescribably hard to deal with her current frailty. I pray to the universe for strength and appropriateness when handling her. She’s always been fiercely independent and proud, and I don’t ever want to undermine the dignity with which she’s always conducted herself. I pray for our family to do the right thing for one of its pillars.

On Sunday were having a long-overdue Family Get-together, in honour of my mom. She’s so cute, she didn’t realize it was in her honour, and told my sister she’d really like to go, too.