“I have done nothing the last twelve years but wait for myself be myself again.”
(paraphrasing Georgia O'Keefe regarding summer.)
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I have under my belt 100 teacher training hours of “Restorative Yoga for the Elderly.” I made it my excuse to live and study in Singapore some time in 2011 under the guise of wanting to guide my Mom to gently stretch in her old age. Her Alzheimer’s was detected early so I think (looking back) this was my mad scramble to fight the anxiety that came with my Mom’s diagnosis. Pattern shows that my default coping mechanism is to study. ��♀️
She was still all right then, save for a worrisome fall (which prompted the revealing brain scan) and the usual forgetfulness that comes with being a Mom (aka kulit) - she was definitely still A1, tiptop, sharp as they come.
Most of us kids went to Singapore with her that year, my brothers to catch the F1 in Sepang, and the girls stayed in our Ate’s apartment. Mom made us walk and walk and walk and walk around Singapore because walking was her thing. She super enjoyed wading around that fake beach shoreline in Vivo City’s rooftop - when she waved at me to join her, and I said, “Is the water chlorinated?” She rolled her eyes at me - without saying a word she commanded me to take my shoes off, put them aside, and wade shin deep across a mall pond to her side.
We (again) walked and walked and walked in circles, mall-water sloshing the tips of our jeans chatting about real beaches we’ve been to.
Even though she thought it silly that I was studying superslow yoga in a Buddhist temple she still humored me by doing the stretches I taught her. She was often distracted and impatient and would say “let’s just have coffee and chat” instead. When I was done with the teacher training course, I showed her my certificate and she asked me solemnly if I converted to Buddhism; it turned out she was worried that I was going to that Buddhist campus everyday for faith reasons. I assured her I wasn’t and slightly reprimanded her because even if I did decide to become Buddhist she should still love me. (my turn to roll my eyes) � She looked relieved.
I usually let Mom have her way, in fact many of our “scheduled yoga sessions” ended up being long walks around our village and then we’d end up in our parish church somehow (coincidentally daw) always in time for 6pm mass. �
I’d often hear her tell my brothers saying, “Na isahan ko si Gangging, akala niya walking-walking lang kami, tapos napasimba ko bigla!” then she’d laugh her infectious laugh while I pretend to look like I lost a championship match. She enjoyed winning, and though it was WAY different when I was younger (I may have inherited this ‘win or die’ gene from her) but when we both got older I (surprise surprise) learned to enjoy losing to her.
I vividly remember the last long walk we took (I didn’t know then that it was to be the last but maybe I did) - Brother (JunBads) and I took one elbow each and we walked slowly up and down our street. I remember she told Merl (her trusty healthcare partner) that she need not come along and to stay home because she’ll be okay with us kids. I didn’t think much of it then but I think that was probably her telling Merl how happy she is that we were both there to accompany her on her usual walk.
While walking I asked her why she didn’t use a cane or a walker and she said “What for? I have lots of children, five for each arm.” � She would point to our shadows - stretching and fading, shrinking and moving as we walked beneath streetlamp after streetlamp. She said “I’m really the shortest now! I’m even shorter than my last two eggs.” (again, the laugh) �
She referred to us (Brother and me, her 2nd batch kids, number 9 and number 10) collectively as “her last two eggs.” It became a joke that always showed up in our Easter cards and even in the dwindling text greetings.
I stopped doing yoga completely as things got busier, Mom got less and less mobile, and I was getting more and more ill at ease with silence, stillness scared me; I hated the quiet because I was wrestling with anticipatory grief. (More on this another time, remind me to write about it.) I stayed in the noise and the funk and the speed and the dribble and the hustle and the mess of the crowd - all so I don’t need to feel the crush of the Alzheimer’s wall closing in, so I don’t always feel the fear of what was to come.
I just spent my first Easter Sunday without my Mom; this 'massive missing’ rendered me either weepy or snippy most of Holy Week. I’m sure she’s rolling her eyes again at me from wherever.
1229am SAT
6 April 2024