Life. Is. Good!

Some days you know your life is good, and you cling to that knowledge to make it through, constantly reminding yourself you are blessed. Other days, it's everywhere! At every turn, with every moment's passing, a whisper through the trees, the light in your child's eyes: Life. Is. Good! Yesterday was one such day, but it was the final few hours of the day that were extra special.

Mom's condition has no rhyme or reason to it. Sometimes, when she's had no sleep at all the night before, she is agitated and restless the entire day; other times, I fight to keep her awake so she doesn't have another wakeful night. When I entered Mom's room yesterday morning, I could tell she'd had a rough night. Her things were everywhere. Clothes unfolded, a pajama top in her sock drawer -- those sorts of things. I got her dressed and the day continued with her usual disengagement, her silence and childlike adhesion to me. Despite her lack of sleep, she didn't try to doze, nor was she on edge. It was a "normal" day.

But something happened around dinner time -- a time of the day in which she is usually at her worst. She began watching the airplanes flying overhead, as my grandson does when he visits. She'd point out every plane, each one more special to her than the one before -- and clearly worth my attention. Our streak of Seattle-like weather had broken overnight, and I'd come out on the deck to write in the quiet; my enthusiasm over ordinary aircraft did not mirror my mother's -- at first. When it became obvious her sky watching was more than a momentary flicker in her eye, I joined her. It was then she began asking me questions about things she'd been unable to recall for years. She didn't quite have all the pieces, but she was eagerly trying to make sense of what she had.

"Why am I here?" I explained we all live together because we're a family.
"But I didn't always live here. Who brought me here?" I explained her house had become too much for her to care for, that living alone had become unsafe for her.
"I can't remember it all. What's wrong with me?"

I suppose most people, upon hearing such a question, their hearts would break; but that's the paradox of a condition like Mom's: a question like that is a beautiful, unexpected, glorious milestone! She knows! She knows she is not who she was, that her life is not what it was. This woman is not some empty shell, a ghost; my mother is in there. And it was marvelous to see. A true blessing.

Life. Is. Good!