She recognizes each moment as an individual picture frame that is immediately discarded, forgotten. It hurts a little that she sees me that way. She seems to experience a tinge of recognition, but once I'm out of her range, I'm gone and the memory is lost, or rather it never existed.
We were never close. Now there's no time left to create a semblance of a mother/daughter kinship. What never was, will never be. Still, I am the person who looks after her well being, making sure all her needs are met. I'm certain her basic ones are. Her mental/emotional/spiritual needs may be less fulfilled, or totally fulfilled. I don't know.
So I gave her some presents, a little food, a hug, some smiles and good wishes during the moments I was with her. Her spirit was lifted temporarily, until it retrieved into unknown, vacant, mysterious realms where I can't find her.
It's difficult for me to maintain an inner sacred silence. The voices of ego chime in and interrupt my meditation. When I observe my mother's stillness, her detachment from the material, I can't help but wonder if she hasn't naturally mastered a type of time travel that jettisons her to the place I seek in my own silence. I wonder if maybe someday we'll meet there to connect beyond the limits of relationship, beyond the confines of conditions, beyond the boundaries of bodies, in the place where love is truly all.
Until then I must focus on basics, on mundane and humane considerations and on simple, interactive moments. Yesterday, when I uttered, "Happy Birthday Mother," it made her happy... and me too.