Morning Light
Just as my mother began to slip into the morass of forgetfulness and confusion that we later learned was Alzheimer’s Disease, she wrote the following paragraphs, which I saved along with her other computer files that she had hoped one day to craft into a memoir. These paragraphs (which I’ve left exactly as she typed them) describe her early morning routine:
I am an early riser and so over the years I’ve worked out a morning routine. I pull on my workout clothes – my favorite washed out gray tee shirt, my shabby running sneakers; my worn-out blue cap that says the “Open— However, before I run out, I sit on the carpeted floor to meditate for about fifteen minutes and do some yoga positions. I sit so I can see the large window in front of me. There is a row of old brick tenements. Fire escapes…
Finally, I go down on the elevator and out the door to the busy street. Before I start to run, I stand on the top of the stairs and look up and down the street. A few years ago, my youngest daughter saw the block as Sesame Street.
People sit on the steps – men and women walked briskly to work; gray old men walk slowly to pick up the newspaper; a few women gather together to chat; children carry —
(Jane, January 14, 2009, 3:47 p.m.)
My mother’s words fade, mid-sentence, into unnamed possibility—which is how (or so it feels to me) her life ended at the close of clear-light day this spring.
Substack
Instagram
Facebook
YouTube
LinkedIn
What a moving post – I read and re-read it, the way I would a poem. I’m so sorry for your loss.
Thank you, Jenny. I appreciate your heartfelt comment and your time and attention in reading my post in honor of my mom.
So beautiful. So sad. Beauty and sadness. No paradox here. Many hugs to you, my friend and Sister on this journey of Mother loss. Thanks for posting.
And thank you for reading, and for your generous response. (And for your wisdom and companionship on this road.)
Thank you Tzivi for sharing such a beautiful piece of Jane`s morning light, I can feel her through the words and how she just loved her morning, and looking out over her street. Its like a precious piece of paper that you are holding the way Jane is holding the flower in the photo. Thank you also for sharing the photo, its a sweet surprise to find it and your words and Janes here…Lots of Love, and a light filled morning (and mourning)…♡
<3
moving, so moving. and such an honest gesture of you to include her words as they were. it does become a well worn poem.
and thank you for your eye on my post, you clever suasage. x
n♥
This is so very beautiful. I read it a few times. Warming words.
‘unnamed possibility’ – so moving and so sad!
warm hugs to you.
A moving light on a life which seems to be the one of a wise person
sorry for your loss.
Such beautiful words and that you have them to read over and over again.
thanks for sharing her words with us.
Beautiful, and moving. Her voice sounds like your voice in many of your posts… daughter echoing mother. My mom died this Spring, too. May you be surrounded by good memories and good friends.
Kristen, I am so sorry for your loss. May your mother’s memory be a blessing. I hope your dreams bring comfort & strength as well.