telling everyone I know

I usually don't post very much on FaceBook... But I needed everyone I knew to pull for my mom...

and they really came through.

That's the thing I have to love about Facebook, when you need people, everyone from your fifth-grade best friend to the newly-appointed president of your college shows up for you. 

I'm so grateful for everyone's well wishes, I hope they work for my Amma. 

Pic: Screen-grab from my FB post today

unpredictable

 For a few hours today, things seemed to be okay and I did normal things.

Then Amma got sent back to the ICU.

And... Big A who seemed to be recovering nicely from last week's bicycle crash developed a high fever, tested negative for flu and Covid, and had to make a trip to the E.R. for possible sepsis.

I guess the silver lining is that I fall asleep the minute I lie down because I can't wait to escape this plane. 

Wonder Women

Thank you for the well wishes. Mom is doing better. If she continues to be stable, they'll move her out of the ICU tomorrow. My seventy-nine-year-old mom has chronic heart and lung problems, but as Big A said, she's living to fight another day. 

I nearly died every time the phone rang today, imagining the worst. One branch in my brain's flowchart was already making arrangements to travel to Bangalore. Simultaneously, another branch was completely certain that everything would be alright, how could the world go on without Amma?

I know the day is coming for me, for all of us, and especially people my age. Just this week, I've had friends describe parents as "actively dying" and witnessed (on Facebook) friends whose last parent died describe how it's never old to feel like an orphan. They were not ready. I know I'm not ready. I doubt anyone ever is. 

Anyway, because my sister and I were constantly texting yesterday, I took some strength in thinking of ourselves as Wonder Women. Our group chat name plays with this theme--it's called "Wanda Women" since one of our family names is Wandawasi. 

Pic: Top--our "Wanda Women" Profile photo; Bottom--the photo Big A took the morning they left. Nu is a bonus presence in both.

"in the end I want my heart to be covered in stretch marks"

While my sister spoke to me over the telephone, I spied a smudge on the kitchen counter and assiduously swiped at it clockwise and anti-clockwise with a dishcloth.

I guess I was hearing her words but hadn't yet made sense of what she'd said.

My mom is in the ICU. She may need to go on a ventilator. She may have had a heart attack. All of this still sounds unreal. She was just here two days ago, being her usual self.

Before my sister's call, I had started today's post with this: The gentle, brilliant spoken-word poet Andrea Gibson, who died yesterday, once wrote “In the end I want my heart to be covered in stretch marks.” And I too want to stretch my heart wide with love and what it means to be human and alive and brave. But I can't handle the thought of my mom struggling to breathe.

back

The two on the left are now back in Bangalore.

I started the day stupid sad, but got progressively better as I crossed tasks off my to-do list.

Pic: From family dinner the day before they left. Amma, Chelli, Huck, At, Nu, and Max. I love everyone so much.... but have to say, Huck is the best poser.

airport picnics and no buenos

Today was goodbye. This second week really raced past. My dad is so awesome for managing by himself for two weeks... I really couldn't ask for a longer visit. But it was difficult saying goodbye. 

We found a four-leafed clover to pack for travel good luck. And Nu helped me with the big suitcases and Big A managed to jenga us into one car with all the luggage despite his dinged-up elbow.

When we got to the airport, it turned out that one of their four suitcases weighed more than allowed (50 lbs). So I repacked it so it (and the other suitcases) came in at 49.5. I felt like a hero because we avoided the 100$ fine. 

And I felt like a superhero when our little airport picnic of Parsi omelette sandwiches and veggies from the garden was pronounced perfect. But then they had to head for their gate via TSA and that's when my hero and superhero mantle crumbled and I (we all) (predictably) cried a bit.

And I cried lots more when I got home because Nu and Big A were there to be comforting. My poor long-suffering Big A--I spiraled a bit about my mom growing old, my sister not having a job, and how climate change is going to disproportionately affect places like India.

Anyway... we ate leftovers for dinner (yesterday's ratatouille and yogurt bread) and then I found a giant package of Kinder Bueno that my mom hadn't been able to fit into her luggage and left behind. I try not to eat questionably sourced chocolate, but this package was already here and Nu can't eat it (tree nut allergy), so I set to work. I've eaten seven (maybe eight) things this evening. Each one has two bars. 

Pic: Amma and me. Photo by Chelli (baby sis). 

from here to go-dhuli

our words tear paths

as if we are oracles

our touch gathers

courage as though 

there's no law for it 

mosquitoes now follow us home 

knocking on our window panes

like tiny trickster castaway birds

who are also sorrowful orphans 

it is yet a quiet sky

as the clouds go by 

in the long intimacy

of anguish, a golden

go-dhuli dust blooms

my mother has promised us love

and it is in this clearing: quiet as--

wary as-- gentle as-- worn as-- cattle

waiting and gentling into another time

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Note: Go-dhuli, literally "dust of cows" in Sanskrit, the golden hour of sunset when cattle return home; it is considered to be a beautiful and auspicious time and is a nostalgic trope. Cows are revered as archetypal mothers (Go-matha) in Hindu-Indian culture. (I mean, that's where "holy cow" as an expression probably came from!?) Also, my mom and I have a very silly, longstanding act where we play cow and calf.

____________________________

Pic: Nu's photo of Chelli, Huck, Max, and me reading in the afternoon. (Or Chelli and I are trying to anyway.)