Mama, you fell down again...

Mama, you fell down again.  The surefooted, certain, active mom of my memory is no longer.  Your body betrays you little by little even as your mind slips away.

Somehow you’ve become mama now, even though since my youth you’ve always been mom.  Mama; somehow the two syllables, two of the same sounds back to back, ring as more loving in my ears as I come into your line of sight.  

On the floor at 3.00 a.m. as you look up to the ceiling what is that goes through your mind?  As you lay there on your back are you wondering how you got there?  Mama, what do you think happened to you?

My mom taught me how to hike.  Hiking is more than walking – it is exploring, being curious and moving over and through all sorts of terrain.  Hiking is walking while looking all around you, soaking up the sights and sounds and smells of the woods, of the river bed, of the natural gorge, of the rocky ledge or the sandy shore.  My mom wanted so much for me to be confident in my stride and sure in my step.

I remember being at Red Hill Creek just down from Albion Falls, away from the sounds of traffic, away from the obligations of life and hearing my mom encourage me to balance my way across the water.  The river was slightly more than a trickle so it must have been late in the year.  She balanced her way across the rocks and stood safely on the other side.

Hands outreached to me, standing nervous across the river, “come on”, she says, “you can balance on the rocks – they’ll keep you dry”.  Onto the first rock I step – a big flat rock with a surface enough for both of my feet.  

“One more step, right foot first onto that rock and then left onto the shore”.  Her arms outstretched ready to receive me once I cross.

I took a step.

Splash, my left foot went into the water.

Laughing mom said “the other right foot!  Next time use the other right.”

Mama, you fell down again.  Your spindly legs that have always carried you deftly over all terrain, those scrawny ankles that miraculously gave you such sure footing, they’ve betrayed you and there you lay on the floor.

What are you thinking, mama, as you stare up at the ceiling?  Are you recalling through a foggy haze lying on a picnic table watching the green shades of the Aurora Borealis dance across the sky as we camped on the shores of Green Water Lake?  As you lay there staring at the ceiling, mama, do the pictures in your mind recall the starry, starry nights as we searched for something more than the Big Dipper?

Mama, I wish I could hold my arms out to receive you as you balance your way across this river.  I wish that I could wrap you up and keep you safe and comforted as you make this confusing journey.  Mama, I wish that I could know that what you see at those moments when your body has left you to fall is… me, is us, is all of us who you have loved, who you have taught, those of us that you have guided and reassured…I hope that you see us loving you.  Our arms held out to catch you, to embrace you, and to comfort you.

Mama, I hope that you’re not scared…