holy obligation

it was somewhere in the midst of the torrent of tears and her forehead pressed to the table, somewhere in the span of time where i knelt on the floor at her side, stroking her back, her legs, kissing her hand, that it occurred to me, this is what holy obligation means. it means to bear witness to and shower compassion on the spilling over of the sorrows of the soul, especially, right now, the sorrows of the beautiful mind dimming in the light of longer days.

she had forgotten she no longer drives. as we ate the dinner i brought over and talked of her life in germany, and what she was going to do the next day, she realized, as if for the very first time, her car keys were missing. and so it began. fresh pain, fresh anguish, fresh fear of being trapped and made useless, and an hour and a half of broken record ranting. at a point where my knees began to ache, the crux was reached and the singular not-to-be-repeated sentence squeaked out of her mouth, "nobody loves me anymore".

at that point, i rose. she continued to sob with her head on her arms. i kissed her forehead. i cleared the plates. i found post-it notes and i began to write. for her nightstand, i wrote, "i love you, oma". i wrote the same for her refrigerator door. for the door to her tv room and the bottom of her kitchen calendar i wrote the date and time i was there and what we did together.

i knelt some more and talked to her and slowly, the storm passed. we agreed we loved each other. but for the first time ever, she did not stand at the door to wave as i drove away.

from what i am told, the next day was one of her happiest in a very long time. when a neighbor, who saw my car in the driveway the day before, inquired about me to my oma, the reply came, "she is a good girl". but whether my oma recognized me or understood a word i said to her in her anguish, at this point, does not matter. what matters is giving honor to all she has meant to me. what matters is giving her a witness. what matters is showing love, no matter what. this is my obligation. and i consider it holy.


{photo~ a shelf in my oma's kitchen, may 2010}