First, as described in my previous posting, Wednesday night's conversation got heated but not once did the grannie client fall back on her practically patented "What did I do wrong? Whatever it is, I'm sorry & promise to never do it again," response. I can barely remember a time she hasn't.
That particular response serves a major "use" - it's guaranteed to shut down her ability to really experience, acknowledge & understand the problem at hand. But she didn't go there. Instead, she kept her mental & emotional pathways open - incredible for any of us, downright jaw-dropping for someone with memory challenges!
Then, she called to apologize for the specific situation, with specific regrets given for specific actions. And she made it possible for the two of us to put the situation behind us & look forward to the future, an outing the next afternoon.
Little did I know an even
more gobswoggly leap was about to happen.
The senior residence where she lives almost always has an interesting program on Thursday nights. Almost. This past Thursday was one of the few that didn't have one scheduled. The day got even less engaging when the 1:30 p.m. Current Events discussion was canceled.
To help make up for what would be a far less stimulating Thursday than usual, I took her out for a special lunch. We lit over to the Cheesecake Factory at Willow Grove Park (Mall). It was a grey, damp day & the restaurant's sunny interior & "best smiles around" staff would surely make for a memorable meal. HA! Again - little did I know.
Oh my gosh - the place was packed! "It's like Christmas," I commented to the host. Well, not quite, but a lot of schools were off for Rosh Hashanah, which explained the range of ages throughout the restaurant. Praise be, we were promptly seated, with several families in viewing range of my g.c. (she loves children of all ages & especially families together).
As always, we had a delightful server, a young lady who made us feel like having us to fuss over totally made her day. My g.c. ordered her usual vodka martini (rocks on the side, no garnish) & I got my usual lemonade (they serve it in a chilled glass rimmed with salt). Ordering lunch was a snap - the mushroom bacon burger for her, guacamole egg rolls for me.
It was a lovely time, with the usual fun of looking around the room, getting into a discussion about some aspect of American history, reviewing what was happening in our home town.
The last always has a touch of bittersweet, since many of the events that were common thirty years ago no longer happen. Somehow, this drew my g.c. into thinking about her life, in this present moment.
It's unlikely I will ever forget her face, looking across at me & announcing, "Once. I was a wife & I was a mother. Now, my children have their own lives & my husband is gone. I am Mrs. Nothing."
How I wish I could describe her face as she made her statement - she was fully present, fully aware of what she was saying, of the depth of its truth to her.
And I shot my arms up in the air in a gesture of triumph, proclaiming a joyful, "YES!"
Praise be, she'd gotten to the very place that I'd been praying for, working for, dreaming of for all the years I've been leading her astray. She finally had a sense of herself as something somehow different from a wife, different from a mother, or daughter or sister or friend.
I explained that NOW she has something to share with her talk therapist - who is SHE, separate from her roles?
Even if that one afternoon turns out to be the only time she can face down not having a clue about her own self, it happened. It wasn't anything that anyone could MAKE happen. Besides, I'm not a psychologist or counselor. All I could do is my best to help keep pathways cleared & environments safe, but only my g.c. could make it happen. It might never have happened & that had to be okay, too. But it did!
When we used to talk about her apparent lack of self awareness, I'd illustrate my concern by describing her waiting to be processed into Heaven. God would ask, "Who are you?" & she'd reply, "I'm Mrs. -------." God would try again, "Who are you?" & she'd reply, "I'm the mother of -----------." When asked again, she'd blurt out, "I don't know what you're talking about."
Now, I have to change that fable. She might still give the first two answers, but the third? Even if she never takes any further steps along the path than the HUGE leap she made Thursday afternoon, on the third go 'round she can answer "Who are YOU?" with, "I haven't a clue."
And the trumpets sounded
& the angels sang!!
Mrs. Nothing, make way for
Ms. Somebody.
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