Someday I will be efficient...
Someday I will no longer have to worry about how the
dishwasher is loaded. Being just a tad bit OCD, loading it up in "perfect
order" has been one of the few joys of housekeeping. Like a master puzzle
maker, everything sorted according to its size and shape, the goal has always
been to use every square inch of space, in an orderly fashion of course. I tell
myself that it is to "save water" and the planet in the process, but
really, in a world spinning out of control, it is one of the few tasks that
brings peace and order to a chaotic world.
I lost that job when my 95 year old mom moved in. I did not
lose it right away, but in tiny increments as her dementia has deepened. Though
it was her decision to move in, for the first four months she "raged
against the machine", which in this case was me. Hurtful things came out
of her mouth, reminiscent of the less than affectionate barbs slipped into
conversation throughout my life. But in those hard times, I made a conscious
choice to just love her, regardless of the emotional climate. Whether it was
that determination or the progress of her disease, something in her turned, and
she began a transformation into a loving, gracious person, someone I had not
experienced most of my life.
I think, though, that probably it was the dishes that turned
the tide. Your see, she wanted to be helpful, and washing dishes was a joy from
her childhood, so I agreed she could "pre-wash" them. She would get
up from our shared table each morning after breakfast and totter as though
intoxicated, carrying our dishes to the sink. Like a new mom, I would hover to
make sure things did not get dropped. Then I remembered that broken dishes can
be replaced, but stolen dignity could not. It was a lesson I would have to
learn over and again.
What started out as a quick rinse has now, as she progresses
in her decline, become a ritual that grows each day. "I am going to do the dishes now,"
she announces, and I remove myself to let her do it all by herself. Many
mornings, I have sat and watched her stare out the window lost in thought, and
I wait for her inspiration to return for the task at hand. Then an inner light
switches on and she shuffles over to the sink, dishes shaking like small
buildings in an earthquake, her slow almost crablike walk creating an
arrhythmic thump on the tile floor.
Then the water is turned on and I hear the
dishes being washed one at a time and set on the sink floor. A few moments will
pass, and then she turns the water on and washes them again, not out of
cleanliness but forgetfulness. My teeth no longer grind as I listen. It is just
water. And she is happy.
Every day when finished, she comes in and proudly announces
the dishes are done. Often she takes my hand and leads me into the kitchen,
unaware that I have been surveying her work from a distance, watching her glide
like a manta ray on the ocean floor over the counters looking for things to
wash and organize. "I don't know what we would do without you,” I tell her
every time. Her face shines like a schoolgirl who has just passed an important
exam. She has meaning in her life now.
The newest wrinkle is now a towel gets placed on the
counter, and she creates a little pocket to put the silverware in and then
places the washed dishes on the remaining towel. Yesterday I opened up the
cupboard and found the "washed dishes" - traces of breakfast still
intact on the sides, neatly stacked. I think to myself, "It is time to
teach her how to load the dishwasher."
We all worry so much about legacy, or maybe it is just me,
wanting it to be something deep and meaningful. But this, after 95 years, is
hers. She washes dishes....with great tenderness and great love. It is her act
of sacrifice, done for me, the daughter she has come to love openly as we
wander through this journey to the end of her life.
Someday, I will be efficient and save water and do my little
organizing task with great planning and orderliness, and the sound of her
shuffling across the floor and the rattle of dishes will be only a memory that
haunts this house. But today, I will teach her how to load the dishwasher. It
will be messy and chaotic and will, in all likelihood, turn a five minute task
into an hour long ordeal. But in the end, what we will have together is
something better than order...
We will have love made visible in the chaos...
(Note: My mom died two days after I wrote this draft. On her last day on earth, she loaded the dishwasher and raked leaves...what she would have called a perfect day)
(Note: My mom died two days after I wrote this draft. On her last day on earth, she loaded the dishwasher and raked leaves...what she would have called a perfect day)
