Guest post from Sister L

Got to my regular church today

Yesterday, when I arrived, Mom was (surprisingly!) at the Natural History Museum, a four-hour outing. The group traveled in a van equipped for wheelchairs. She enjoyed the butterflies, said volunteer Rebecca, giving me an update.

Mom then managed to stay awake through dinner, during the after-dinner sing-a-long, and for the first half of a concert in the chapel.

Then anxiety set in. 

“We need to go next,” she said, trying to stand up from her chair, as the audience clapped for a very talented 17-year-old cellist. By now it was 7:15 PM after, granted, a long day.

“No Mom, we’re here to listen, not participate.”

But I knew what she was thinking.

“I’m scared. I haven’t practiced,” she said.

Sure enough, she was a pianist again, waiting her turn to play at a recital, or thought she should accompany the young musicians, perhaps, like she used to? 

Whatever she was thinking, the situation made her anxious. I wondered if she was about to re-enact the panic attack she experienced before a piano recital that sent her home from college.

We escaped between the violinist and the string trio played by the homeschooled siblings. As I rolled her back upstairs, she tried to grip the railings that run along the hallway to pull her wheelchair back to the chapel. 

“Come on,” she said. “At least we should say something to them!” She was strong and determined!

I quickly settled her in bed.

This morning (Saturday morningI found her in the “penalty box,” calmly leafing through a newspaper like old days at the kitchen table if you squinted. I was pleased to see she could point to, and read, a headline or two, as well as individual words in big font, and even respond to the meaning of certain words and phrases. 

“Shall we swim?” I said.

“We might as well do something.”

Swimming takes no time at all compared to the chore of getting our swimsuits on. I decided to skip our so-called laps and go straight to the hot tub. In the hot water, her grimacing Parkinson’s lines softened. I rubbed her feet until her face fully relaxed, and her eyes closed, like a kid tucked into a warm, rocking subway car.

Then the long locker room routine in reverse.

I parked her at the table just in time for lunch and dashed off for an hour of time alone.