My dinner date.
Today I answer a question posed to me by my son and daughter in law:
If you could have dinner with anyone - living or dead - who would it be?
My mom.
Mom passed away May 12, 2020, after a long, grueling, agonizingly slow battle with Alzheimer’s.
What a cruel disease that is. It strips your identity at the pace of a water droplet eroding a big rock. You don’t notice the dripping at first. Then you think you might be aware of a drip. Eventually it’s all you can hear and the rock is disappearing.
Ronald Reagan’s family called it The Long Goodbye. I get that, but I feel like Alzheimer’s robbed us of a goodbye. It was more like the awkward silence standing on the porch not knowing what to say for ten years.
If I had dinner with Mom, I’d take the opportunity to let her know how much I loved her and respected her, a conversation I had actually had with her much too late. So late that it wasn’t really a conversation, I guess. More like a monologue and I wondered if she understood.
I’d let her know that I recognize her DNA in me as it surfaces every day in a variety of ways, and that I also see it in the eyes of her grand daughter and namesake.
I’d let her know that she was seen, even though she preferred to be unseen, because everybody likes to know their presence matters. I think she would appreciate hearing that, even though she’d probably blush and change the subject.
She’d start talking about Dad. Or me. Or her grandkids. Because that’s what she did. Only this time I would listen with different ears. And I would tell her that even though Dad always got the big font and credit for the starring role, and she was sometimes considered the supporting actress, I knew the truth.
Then I would ask her questions. Most of which I never asked. Questions like, who was her best friend growing up and what did she like about them? What made her happy? What made her sad? What did she miss in her life when she went from quiet farm wife to public pastor wife? And, was it worth it?
What was it like losing a baby before it was born? What advice would she give me today, and what would she do differently if given a chance.
I’d also like to know what it’s like in heaven, and could she tell me if I’m even close in my understanding of being a Christian, and I think she’d probably laugh and say no.
And I would ask her to tell me about the moment when Dad joined her. Did they meet their baby we never met in this life? Are they able to see us and cheer us on and do they shake their heads at me?
Those questions would lead to hundreds of other questions and we’d be finishing a shared dessert and there would be one bite left and she would insist she was full and I should finish it off and I would tell her I finally figured out that ruse and I would make her eat it.
Then I’d try to figure out how to say goodbye because I never figured it out before.
Wow Bill this writing is so touching. I loved when I sat with your Mom & Dad in Church, although she couldn't say much her presence was warming and comfortable. I remember one time your Mom needed to go to the Ladies room. I offered to take her and your Father nicely declined my offer. He stood up and walked her to the Ladies room and at that moment I could see and feel the love between them. Your Mom looked back at me like she heard my offer but preferred the offer of a husband's love. She was such a beautiful woman, so kind, always seemed calm & peaceful. I wished I had known her before her health had declined. I am certain she would have had words of wisdom to share with me about life & love!
Beautiful Bill. I truly believe that even though she may not appeared to have heard or comprehended what you were saying, her spirit did and when you get to heaven you will be pleasantly surprised when you finally get to have a conversation with her.