did they eat this morning. (OK, someone requested a second page so I'll bite off another chunk.)
Now I'm wondering about the chain of communication between the care-giving wife, her phone call in Cantonese to my father, my father's conversation with my mother, my mother's e-mail in English across national borders to me, my phone call in English to my cousin in the next state over, my cousin's call across the country to her brother on the West Coast, also in English, her brother's call back home across national borders again, their mother's insistence that "yes, your dad has Alzheimer's, but he's okay." What a long way this news had to travel to reach my cousin's ears at last. I'm glad I called her.
What does that mean anyway: "he's ok"? Does it mean that he is forgetting some things, but not too many? Does it mean she is managing from day to day? More likely it means what we often say to our loved ones. "No, he's not okay, but you live so far away that there's not much you can do to help. So rather than sit there wringing your hands and feeling helpless, you might as well go on living your life. I got this one."
These are the lies we tell our loved ones, to spare them the anxiety of knowing what we live through every day. Earlier I thought my mother was being manipulative and martyring herself to get my attention, when she claimed that she "didn't want me to worry about the future." Fly, little bird, fly - leave the nest and soar in the skies. For years I was weighted down by guilt, unable to spread my wings, treasuring my hair shirt of remorse and self-flagellating contempt. How could I be such a wicked daughter, moving thousands of miles away from my parents, leaving them with a dependent to support and care for every day?
All of this self-hate didn't help anyone, I now realize. Why allow my mother to drag me through the mud, when I could be out seeing the flowers and riding in boats and bringing joy to the lives of people stuck at home? Now I live my life so that I enjoy it as much as possible, and I try to share that joy through photos, art, writing, music, food, laughter, phone calls, and Skype. It's the best I can do right now.
Now I'm wondering about the chain of communication between the care-giving wife, her phone call in Cantonese to my father, my father's conversation with my mother, my mother's e-mail in English across national borders to me, my phone call in English to my cousin in the next state over, my cousin's call across the country to her brother on the West Coast, also in English, her brother's call back home across national borders again, their mother's insistence that "yes, your dad has Alzheimer's, but he's okay." What a long way this news had to travel to reach my cousin's ears at last. I'm glad I called her.
What does that mean anyway: "he's ok"? Does it mean that he is forgetting some things, but not too many? Does it mean she is managing from day to day? More likely it means what we often say to our loved ones. "No, he's not okay, but you live so far away that there's not much you can do to help. So rather than sit there wringing your hands and feeling helpless, you might as well go on living your life. I got this one."
These are the lies we tell our loved ones, to spare them the anxiety of knowing what we live through every day. Earlier I thought my mother was being manipulative and martyring herself to get my attention, when she claimed that she "didn't want me to worry about the future." Fly, little bird, fly - leave the nest and soar in the skies. For years I was weighted down by guilt, unable to spread my wings, treasuring my hair shirt of remorse and self-flagellating contempt. How could I be such a wicked daughter, moving thousands of miles away from my parents, leaving them with a dependent to support and care for every day?
All of this self-hate didn't help anyone, I now realize. Why allow my mother to drag me through the mud, when I could be out seeing the flowers and riding in boats and bringing joy to the lives of people stuck at home? Now I live my life so that I enjoy it as much as possible, and I try to share that joy through photos, art, writing, music, food, laughter, phone calls, and Skype. It's the best I can do right now.
