The Place

Nightmares have awakened her from slumber. It is the middle of the day and she is sad, lost, lonely and confused. She cries out, frightened. Ragged sobs rack her body with the depths of her sorrow.  Her heart pounds. "My Babies! Oh, my Babies! Where are my Babies? Where have they gone?!" She is inconsolable and heartbroken. She cannot make any sense out of the broken images flitting across her fractured mind. Where did her beautiful memories go?


My phone rings. It's The Place. The nurse, Michelle informs me of Mom's afternoon breakdown. I turn my car around and head back into town. The sky is darkening with clouds full of wet sloppy snow not yet fallen, but promising. My mind is set to Autopilot. I barely see the street signs, the stop lights, the cavernous pot holes that threaten to swallow Little White, my car, whole. Sound is muted and light is skewed, faded, dank. I know the term for this is dissociation. I'm very well familiar with the way it feels. We have become Intimate Friends over the years. I think, "I must look totally pissed right now," but I'm not pissed. I'm poised. Poised and Armored to do Battle with the War of Emotions that await me, follow me, through the door of The Place.


I park Little White in a space of Mud where my tires recess there in the grooves of all those who have parked there before. I heave a huge preparatory exhalation, and with one fell swoop grab my phone and keys, thrusting them into the pockets of my coat.


It's Time. I yank the heavy coded door open, turn right, flounce up the two short flights of stairs, push the red button and let myself in the locked door. There she is, back to me in a gaggle of residents clustered just inside the door. I tap her gently on the shoulder, saying, "Mom? Mom?" It isn't until she turns around that she becomes aware of me and her face shows recognition. Grabbing me none too gently, she throws her arms around me and hugs me tightly, clutching me as if for dear life. I hold her as I would a frightened child, infusing her with Love and Reassurance using as few words and as much energy as possible. The People that work at The Place look somewhat relieved that I have decided to come. 


For someone so Frail, Mom really books it down the hallway to the vicinity of her room. I guide her to the correct door and after we are in, she fairly slams it behind us. She is eager for a Natter, it would seem. We sit down on her bed and I ask, "You had some bad dreams; a Nightmare?" "No! It was REAL!" she insists. Then the Stories begin. Her words glom together in mostly nonsensical patterns of disarray. Her emotions are taut and conflicted. She knows she is confused. Somehow I get that she was having dreams about being lost between East Haven and New Haven and there are pairs of useless scissors involved. Then she looks at me, her head cocked to one side, a puzzled expression on her face. All at once, we start to laugh. We laugh until tears are brimming our eyes. Through it all, I assure her that the Babies are all alright and that we all Love her. She leans into me, puts her head on my shoulder, and sighs heavily. This is another Battle fought and won...today. She says, "You smell so good." I know she feels better. All at once, she's done and ready to move on the next thing.


These are just bits and pieces of a story still unfolding. And I think, we love stories, Mom and I. We always have. Somehow I know that our Lives are a Story we would want to read. With all it's Dishevelment, Chaos, Angst, Fear and Pain there is also so much Love, Light, Laughter and Wisdom to be found here, peeking out from beneath the letters of words written.