Being Held

I had been waking up with a sense of urgency to see my mom. Somehow I could feel the changes she is experiencing. And I guess I selfishly want as much time as I can muster. So cheap plane ticket found and plans made and here I am, sitting beside her this morning while she slurps down her breakfast.

I loved my dad, but he had his own dis-ease with life and alcohol was his drug for self medication. And it drastically changed his personality, so the end result was a little girl never knowing what love could and should look like. Somethig that has shaped me, shaped my life and always presenting an internal tug of war.

Fast forward to this morning in Oregon. And a stepdad we lovingly call SuperStan. We gave him that title long before he morphed into a constant caretaker of our mother. He has somehow found his personal path out of alcoholism and into the man I see tenderly keeping my mom home  in her familiar world and keeping himself steady and strong for what lies ahead. Some kind of love that seems a bit overwhelming to me at times- like this morning. I walked into the living room where my childlike mom had curled up next to him on the couch, assuming the spooning position. She was being held inside his arms and I could feel her again- the safety and warmth in his gentle embrace. I can't explain the lump in my throat or the enormous gratitude that washed over me. I couldn't help making a comparison of where she has been and where she is now. I find myself being held, too, in a round about way. And because of this man, my mom is still my mom to a large degree because his love reminds her and guides her. Never take being held for granted......