Sunday, December 6, 2009

Sunday Memories: Sunday Visits

It started when on Saturday I tried to walk down the street with Robyn under her umbrella. As I changed sides not to bump into my friend's bag, I suddenly lost sight of her. From deep within me I heard Florence's voice calling to Robyn "Where are you?"

"Oh! I sound just like my mother," I said.

"Where are you?" is what Florence would demand as she sat in that beat up old black chair watching again Singing in the Rain again or Sister Act again.

Unless I was taking a picture I'd usually be sitting next to her, knitting or jotting notes.

Her hand would skitter out from under the blanket and look for mine while never taking her eyes of the screen of a movie she couldn't remember having just seen a week earlier. The minute she'd find my hand, she'd know where I was and hold it tight.

Any knitting or note taking I was doing would cease. And we would watch the movie I did remember seeing over and over and over again and the tap dancing would tap and the singing would sing and the rain would rain and the trains outside would go by and the Sunday afternoon air would be not still or filled but just be Sunday air.

In this picture, it is the rare time she didn't care where I was. Joni had been able to get to New York to visit. And Florence wanted to show her this great movie. "Singing in the Rain! Have you seen it?!"

So this time, after turning it on for her again I got to get up and take a picture of something I knew would never ever happen again.


Bucko said...

Stark and beautiful. Peaceful in a way to hear mother's voice in your words.

thejodi said...

Needed to read this today as I'm headed out to see my Florence today, affectionately known as Big Edie. She's found my other blog and is convinced I've made the worst mistake of my life, I will never work again, what was I thinking? was I thinking at all? and on and on.

I needed to read this to remind myself, before I get into the car and head out there, that she loves me. That everything she does is because she loves me. And I love her just as much, my heart would explode if I loved her more. She's my crazy-maker, but she's mycrazymaker. Thanks for the beautiful reminder.

c.o. moed said...

wow. yes... I once yelled at someone who was critical of Florence, "BUT SHE'S MY WACKO." Hang in there and also someone just sent me a site called

which is a free site / resources / support for adult caretakers of aging parents.