There are moments.
From the dining room, I hear the strains of All You Need Is
Love by the Beatles, streaming out of Alexa.
And just barely audible from here, I hear Kim’s sub-alto singing along.
She’s struggling so badly with the horrible abuse she
receives from her mom’s dementia. She
splits her time between visiting her mom daily at the rehab center and packing her apartment
up for her mom's release from medical care and her subsequent move into our home. Kim is (unnecessarily) fearing how I will react to her mom’s permanent presence, and she is deeply questioning her own ability to deal with a mentally ill
mom in the same house. Earlier today she went from talking gently in an effort to calm her mom in an early call to crying after a later call to hollering to defend
herself, trying to hold her own in the umpteenth phone conversation with
her mom. Kim feels panicked, her mom feels betrayed. The offense each finds in the other is both dreadful and reasonable from each other's perspective.
Later on, Kim was a little more settled making brownies for
church tomorrow. She was like my lady
again.
But listening to her singing in the next room, forgetting
she wasn’t alone in the house, she sounded…. No, not happy. But care free. Just for a moment she had forgotten. Thank God, she had one moment without the
pressures of the day. For that moment, I knew Kim had a bit of relief.
All you need is love.
Thank God for moments.
Thank God for moments.
