As We Walk Upon The Water

I confess that my recent writings have  become a chronicle of caregiving for an aging parent. But I ask your forgiveness and patience. For these things will pass. And I pray that in some small way, these words are a lamplight for other travelers along this path. And I pray as well, that they’ll help me remember what not to forget. The jury has been out on diagnosing my mother with new layers of dementia, verses common reactions to medication that can spontaneously occur in the elderly. Last night, the gavel came down, in full effect, with a blow to my heart. It took my breath away in its thunder and reverberated like a drumbeat of what is to come and what has been and what is no more.  There are some rules of engagement in the daily care of my mother. The lights must always be on. The door must always be open. And the television must always be broadcasting Turner Classic Movies at full blast volume. I have learned some things about these classics that hold my mother in rapt at...

 In the Roman Catholic Church tradition, each month of the year is named for the life of a long ago Saint. These are Souls whom the Church has deemed worthy of honor and sanctification. Most of them suffered through perilous pitfalls and brutal mistreatment.  Many of them doled it out. I will spare you such details. Januarius hangs on the calendar marking the passage of time in my mother’s room. He is the Saint of September.The reflection point of summer’s deep and somber transition into fall. According to legend, he was a Saint with Heart. And it was Heart that he championed through his brief journey Home. September is a month that mere words simply fail to describe. It is a month of letting go and leaning in and letting be and holding tight and moving on. It is a month of bitter sweet surrender and glistening promise, all tied up in the same glowing bow. September brought the exit of my father and the entrance of my first great grandchild. It is made of uncommon winds and ar...