The Exit from the Knoll—(photo provided).
For me, it’s the driving. You might find a better time to think about life’s ins, outs, ups, and downs in some other way. Maybe you do your best brain work during a golf game or while sitting on your porch.
For me, it’s the driving.
This time of year, it’s a gift.
To be honest, I am often much more excited about the coming and goings than I am about the arriving and chatting. That’s me.
My Mama was under the weather yesterday, and she needed to be seen for a couple of things. My little sister, her primary caretaker, teams up with my brother-in-law to make sure she is comfortable in this phase of her life. All of that takes place on an island off the coast, so there are many barriers to the quick and easy that the rest of us, landbound, take for granted.
I can just drive. The bonus is that I love it. But when boats are involved in getting to appointments, you realize that the rest of us have it easy—real easy.
I was just a driver yesterday, doing nothing more than putting my number one skill, and at minimum, my third favorite hobby, to good use.
The good news is that I got to see my mother; we spent the entire day together. Some of it, clearly, was not in the most positive setting, but she was well cared for. I just watched. Sometimes I translated questions into the louder variety so Mama could hear. I am well-versed in louder versions of the same sentences that should be heard in a quieter tone the first time. IYKYK.
In between, we got to ride together. On each leg of our sojourn, she mentioned the foliage; I was glad our time together fell on a sunny, peak-foliage Sunday in Maine.
“I don’t see much of this anymore, Tim.”
My retort: “Neither do we, Mama; the colorful days only last about a month.”
“I just can’t believe the colors,” she said. She said it a lot. She’s homebound a lot more now; unfortunately, it’s necessary. Sometimes, it’s clear in my mind that in hers, it’s all new again. I pray that it’s pleasant for her. My hope is that someday, when things feel new again, I will appreciate them like she seems to.
It gave me a glimpse into all of our futures. But that’s a story for another time.
We did about a hundred miles together in a very short time. Between her care, two boat rides, and eight transfers to and from one vehicle or another, not including a wheeled conveyance in and out of the care facility, she was expectedly very tired. She napped in the sunbeams at a few “waiting spots.”
Even though she was never an aficionado of Tom Petty classics, I think she would have appreciated his sentiments in one particular song.
During that time, my brother-in-law was a churchgoer, dog-care specialist (taking care of my Mama’s well-loved pooch while she was away, as he often does), and intra-island ambulance driver.
He’s recently taken on an additional medical-centric task: besides lobstering, tour boat operator, water taxi driver, town selectman, licensed and skilled arborist, father, and grandfather, he’s now an island-dwelling ambulance operator.
Mostly because sometimes, when a job needs doing, you do it, especially when you’re standing there, and no one else is raising their hand.
My sister, equally, is often overwhelmed with a full-time gig, meal prep for my mother, and making sure she’s well-equipped to navigate a difficult time in everyone’s existence; something we too quickly refer to as being something we are “lucky” to see.
From watching several folks age, if each one of us is lucky enough to get there, we might have misused that descriptor. I say that with reverence for old age, but I must prepare myself for the things I’ve observed. It is not for the weak. We’ve been warned from watching.
I digress.
I only got to wave at my brother-in-law as he navigated an ambulance back onto the ferry boat for its return to the island. I delivered my mother to that same boat, where he would soon get in her car to drive her off on the other side. I ran back off the boat to my own steed to take the darker, less colorful ride home.
I should note that there were two men in that ambulance; the other would soon be the driver, not the caregiver in the “wayback,” since they’d successfully delivered their patient safely to the mainland.
Shout-out to Maine’s mostly volunteer EMS crews. You are impressive people. The island sort? Even more impressive. Sirens and lights do nothing to rush an emergency boat ride across salty, rough waters.
All I had to do was what I do best: drive and think. Oh, yeah, and be my mother’s son, but that’s a skill you never perfect, for there isn’t enough time to pay her back for the life she gave me.
The only picture I took yesterday, other than those in my mind, was the view from my windshield as I exited the knoll for the day.
It was a beautiful morning, followed by a taxing but beautiful day.
In the end, I am so happy my mother got to see the foliage. Although she wasn’t feeling well for much of it, which took some of the brightness away, I know she enjoyed it.
I know because she told me. A lot.
And that was good to hear from her.
Thanks to Jason and Priscilla for taking such good care of our mother!
That’s all I’ve got today.
Keep your hands to yourself, leave other people’s things alone, and be kind to one another.
From the Jagged Edge of America, I remain,
TC
For the subscribers to the emailed blog, I thank you. We keep the missives here for those who find the Facebook abhorent. There are a lot of you. While it’s cheaper and easier to simply provide them to the Facebook side, this requires a website, IT-guy (Thanks, Matt) etc. Its worth it. This way, my friend, Don, reads the posts. He is often reminding me post here as well. For those of you who help out with the costs through the BUYMEACOFFEE app, thank you so much. You know who you are, and I appeciate that as well. Thanks to subscribers, donors, members, and followers. Thanks for buying the books, and reading the words. I appreciate all of you. tc