“I feel a poem coming on,” I said to Jihong this morning, as we were headed home from the grocery store.
"Don’t get sick,” he quipped.
HUG Phyllis Cole-Dai My mother keeps losing things. Eyeglasses. Inches. Memories. People. Facts of her life. Trains of thought. Lately, words. Today on the other end of the phone she stops mid-sentence with a groan. “Oh, you know the word I mean . . .” and I suppose I do but instead of rushing to her rescue I let her keep rooting around in the dusty attic of her brain for the three-letter crate of sound that contains the sense— “You know . . . that thing we do when we wrap our arms around each other and squeeze?” She often says she’s my daughter now— introduces me that way to friends— as if how to be my mother’s mother were simply a forgotten word, right on the tip of my tongue.
Reminder: I’ll be out of studio through March 13, with a crazily hectic schedule thereafter until mid-April. I’m not sure what Staying Power will look like over that span. Thanks in advance for your forbearance. All other Raft publications and events will proceed as usual.
The Gentle Nudge
WEDNESDAY: Creatives’ Coffee (Zoom, 4:00-5:30PM Central, at this link)
THURSDAY: Poetry Pick-Me-Up (Zoom, 12:00-1:00PM Central, at this link)
What a lovely way for your mum to introduce you to her friends. I suppose this reversal of roles isn’t uncommon.
But it was a bit different with my mum before her passing: words weren’t forgotten or lost per se. Rather, the English language would disappear altogether, episodically, and either Russian or/and German, even in the same sentence, would begin to articulate her thoughts and memories of the moment. Luckily, the German was easily understood; but the Russian was a bit more difficult to translate for me. In the end, even when she stopped talking in any audible language, she still shone with happiness and love, and everyone who visited her towards the end, understood her every gesture. Thanks
Thanks Phyllis! Love this poetic reminder of the mysteries of the mind! Take it slow!