Present Moment

How do you describe the beauty of being in the present moment? And not knowing you were?

It was a day at the beach, planned by my girlfriend Debbie and me.  The plan was to take Debbie’s sister, Judy, and my Mother along with us, as we often did.  Judy lived with Debbie, and Debbie was her caregiver.  My Mother lived with me, and I was her caregiver, too.  There was a least twenty-five-years age difference between Judy and my Mother.  My Mother was the older one.  Judy and my Mom were walking ahead of us on the beach.  And there were no people in between that space. The people behind them you didn’t notice.  It was a beautiful, sunny day, seagulls flying above.  You knew you were on the beach by the smell of the sea in the air, and the sound of the waves.  The negative ions, that were released from the water, always made us feel good.

Walking behind Judy and my Mom gave Debbie and me time to catch up with conversation.  Debbie and I were bonded by the commonality of understanding the responsibilities of being caregivers.  Judy, when she ambulated, had an unsteady gait.  And that presented a problem with the lumpiness of the sand under her feet on the beach.  My Mother walked slowly, watching Judy carefully and ready to give support, so Judy wouldn’t fall.  They would take short pauses, allowing Judy to adjust her gait.  You couldn’t help but canvass their faces.  The tenderness of my Mother’s eyes, focusing on Judy’s unsteady motion, and the pure trust that Judy had in my Mother to keep her safe, was priceless.  Only to Debbie and I, could that have been understood, being privy to the workings of the relationship.  Judy being mentally challenged like my Mother made that moment so much more tender.

My daughter would say “They’re special.”

The expression on their faces, were pure, and angelic.  There was never any fakeness in their personalities, they didn’t know how to be anything but themselves.  Although they were challenged in many ways, they were also refreshing because they didn’t spend their lives hiding behind veils.  Because of their age difference, Judy always felt like she was the one to be protective towards my Mom.  Judy felt good about that.  Always having to be dependent on someone else herself, it somehow increased Judy’s self-esteem to have this responsibility.  But in this moment, my Mother was the one protecting Judy.  If you didn’t understand the dynamics of the relationship, it would appear it was just two people walking the beach.  The exchange of affection was immaculate.  Like the bounteous, white cloud formation that hung over them in the sky.  It was untainted in its form and uncontrolled.  Judy’s unsteadiness in her body was the same way.  It appeared as if it was in slow motion as Judy grabbed my Mother’s arm, knowing her own limitations and where to put her faith.

We noticed the pureness of the visual that heaven was calling to our attention. Somehow when writing this, it brought to my mind the thought of a toddler, like when the Mother brings her to the water for the first time at the beach.  And she squats down to the same eye level as the child.  The mother and child together experience the soft wave that reaches their feet gently, and at the right temperature.  Just where all the shells come to shore as gravity pulls the water to your feet, and it curls around your toes.  The child not quite steady in her stance, places her arm on her Mother for support.  And Mom is available.  As the child looks up, with Shirley-Temple-curls, softly framing her face, like ribbons twirling in the sky, her eyes are full of light and wonderment, that hasn’t been tarnished with living a long life.  The child who not so long ago just left the comfort of formless, into the world of form, and is still very much in touch with that.  Who wouldn’t notice that?

But because of Debbie’s and my love for Judy and my Mom we didn’t see what society doesn’t consider beautiful or normal.  Like the aging bodies, that no longer represent their younger days.  And the graying of their hair, replaced their own natural color from their youth.  That was erased by the simple undiluted energy that was exchanged between them.  I looked at Debbie as they walked back toward us.  I said, “We should have got a picture of that.” But as I’m writing this, a camera representing an external object humanely put together, would have somehow taken away from what was meant to be eternal.  Now the lens of our eyes, created its own imprint in our souls.

As I was writing this, I realized what touched me so.  It was my Mother, mothering Judy.  Mothering was something I missed a lot in my own youth.  The Mother I remembered when I myself was young and had my tonsils out.  I was in a crib in the hospital and had woken up in a dark room.  I was standing in my crib scared and in a strange environment.  I was wondering where my Mother was.  And suddenly, a door opened quietly, and light slightly came shining through.  Just enough to see it was my Mom and Dad. My Mom’s hair full of curls, her big smile showing off the white teeth of her youth.  I reached out to her and she reassured me.  And she was complete in her love for me.  I responded in that same need that exchanged between Judy and my Mom on the beach.  A need for her presence, a distant memory of a Mother I had long lost.  Which now I had the glimpse of what that must have felt like.

It’s moments like that at the beach, that replenish the body and soul of a caregiver.  It forces you to see past the burden of being responsible for another life.  It’s the gift that is given from God to edify your spirit so you may continue.  And when those gifts arrive, it’s soft and non-intrusive.  Intuitively you invite it in.  It speaks where your highest self-resides so there is no misunderstanding.  I always knew in that sacred place, that I was doing exactly what I was supposed to be doing in my life.  That was taking care of my Mother.  As if I decided that before I was born.  Something that was innate and predestine.  There were many of times, I wanted out, not completely but a rest.  My girlfriend Debbie used to say, “They’re out ticket to heaven.” And as I am aging, I will try to use that ticket to get in.  Alexandrine was a handful, that’s my Mom’s name.  And as unusual as her name, so was she.