Mother's Song

Tuesday, November 23rd

I learned from my sister that My parents are in New York for two weeks.  I have a borrowed phone for the duration of my stay in Pune, and so I decided to call home before setting off for my voice session.   after several rings my father answered. I greeted him and following a brief chat I asked him how mum was doing. His voice was hollow as he informed me that mum was now suffering from severe memory loss.  Just a few weeks ago she had asked him for our home address, and  a week later she couldn't remember the phone number.  She has lived in the house for more then 30 years, and so this was alarming to my dad and sent him an undeniable signal that something was wrong.

I had known since the summer, when they spent six weeks with me.  Mum had spent much of that time in a near catatonic state, staring blindly at clothing catalogues; unwilling or unable to engage in conversation.  My fathers words fell like load stones.  They confirmed what I had feared for some time.  That my mother was slipping into a deep depression and possible Alzheimer's.  My father sounded dazed, and totally at a loss for what to do.  I wanted to reach through the phone and hug him, but all I could do was to suggest that she get a proper assessment by a physician.  I had to press back the tears that wanted to force their way through the damn of my contracted emotions.  This was not the time for tears.

Dad told me that mum had gone to bed and so I promised to call back to speak with her in the next couple of days.  I  felt powerless to help my parents as they must now struggle with the encroaching reality of mental illness.  My parents have been the last to realize the mental state of my mother, as each has been in their own state of denial.  But, the ravages of the disease now evident in the scores of notes that my mother must scribe daily to thread the events of her day together, have brought them to an abrupt realization.  It is the beginning of what is likely to be a long journey. Where it will lead is yet to be determined.

I  hang up the phone.  I can do nothing from so far away. Nothing, but to love my mother where she is standing, on this shifting ground.  I head out to my voice session in a cloud of sadness, uncertain if I will be able to sing.  The facilitator informs me that the session is a format that requires that I use both my voice and my body to give expression to what I am feeling.  The moment she asks how I feel, the damn bursts; tears spill down my face and of their own volition, and words that tell my mothers story tumble from my mouth.   Sing your sadness, I am told.   And from some where deep inside, I hear a voice emerge. It is deep and sultry; its song,  a song of loss and despair.  My body moves in slow, languid movements to match my mood. The facilitator accompanies me with the piano and I weep now in word and in movement.  The experience is bitter sweet.  For I discover that I have a natural talent, and the teacher affirms this.

The session comes to a close and I am reminded by my teacher, that I possess all of the power of creation. Therefore, I should simply love my father and mother, offering them support without entering into their pain, as this would only create a co-dependency.   I leave feeling  grateful that I  was able to discharge all of my bottled up emotions.  Still feeling slightly feverish, I returned home and wrote these words.

Mother's Song 

Something fractured
A broken promise hangs heavy
In the pregnant space
Recovery lies somewhere
Beyond reach
Stumbling feet
Attempt to carry you
Across the widening tear
Within flesh and bone and sinew
Carefully written notes
Fall onto the floor of forgetfulness
Where the burning embers of memory
Turn them to ash
Sifting thought the charred remains
Your clumsy fingers paint the
Recovered fragments in gray and black
Upon a naked canvass
Paper dolls glued onto
The available surface of memory
Fragile bandages that now
Serve as the repository of hope

Redux

Something fractured
A broken promise hangs heavy
In the pregnant space
Recovery lies somewhere
Beyond reach
Bare feet tread carefully 
Across the splintered floor
Of frustration and denial
Yours, and mine
I have no compass
With which to navigate
These uncharted waters
That threaten to carry you
Into the abyss of forgetfulness
My love, the net that seeks to
Hold you close to shore
Strains against the current
Fragile threads stitched
Into the frayed cloth of memory
Keep you close for now
Something fractured....