vitaminCreativity

Momma lives on

My series of paintings based on memories and stories we told about my mother after she died in 2007 is about to be exhibited at the Sorenson Unity Center in Salt Lake City. I've been painting them for a year and a half and each one makes me smile. I can just imagine Momma looking down at each one, smiling at some and rolling her eyes at others.

I thought I was finished but then decided to do something I've wanted to do ever since we packed up or disposed of all her belongings. I told my sister I wanted to keep some of the quintessential "momma clothes" to cut up and make quilts or wall hangings or pillows for us kids and grandkids. This week I finally got out the box and began my project. I was surprised at my own reaction to taking scissors to a perfectly good nightgown or blouse, not that I could wear them, but there was something about it that seemed so ruthless and final. 

I had the same problem when we initially sorted through all her stuff, deciding what we would keep and what we'd give to Goodwill. But I thought I was past that sentimental attachment. Apparently not. Even so, I cut and designed, glued and sewed, and I now have an almost finished first art piece. I'm actually not sure what to call it; it's more collage than quilt, and it will hang on the wall like a banner. As I embellished it with beads and tulle, I thought I felt Momma smiling approval.

Check the Daily Art file  in the left column for some of the "Legacy" (aka momma paintings) series.

"I'm making progress"

Yesterday I took my elderly father to his neurologist, not a simple maneuver. His Parkinson's Disease has made him wheelchair-bound and his dementia makes him paranoid and fearful. I arranged for a wheelchair accessible van to take us to the appointment. Once in the doctor's office, Dad was asked a battery of questions to gage the inevitable progression of his dementia. In the past, he's been able to answer at least a few of the questions - "Where are you?" "What season are we in?" "What day of the week is it?" 

Adding to the challenge yesterday, Dad was quizzed not by his regular doctor, but a young woman with a thick Indian accent who is in training to be a neurologist. When Dad didn't answer each question almost immediately, she rushed on to the next. Had she waited patiently, he might have dredged the answers out of his damaged memory bank. But no, the closest he came to a correct answer was "table," one out of three words she asked him to remember and repeat and few minutes later. When his regular doctor came in to complete the examination, he explained to the doc-in-training that my father has difficulty initiating speech and might have answered a few more questions if given more time.

Later, back at the nursing home, when I was preparing to leave, not to return for another four months, Dad told me, "I'm making good progress." This must be my life lesson for the day, I thought - what a blessing hope is! My dear, sweet father, with all his physical and mental impairments, dependent on others for all his activities of daily living, still has a reservoir of hope that life will improve. Though I am resigned to the inevitability of his slow decline, I affirmed his hope. Yes, you can help your nurse move you from chair to chair. Yes, you can feed yourself (sometimes). Yes, you can sing along with the music in group activities. Yes, you can still charm people with your smile.

As life gets tougher and tougher, joys get simpler and simpler. May I always find joy in the simple things I can do!