The Next Chapter

I woke up to the phone ringing this morning, and before seeing who the caller was I opted to retreat back under the covers for a few more moments of comfort.  A few minutes later I checked my messages and heard the worried recording from Geraldine, my father's old caregiver.  Although it's been years since she took care of him in his apartment, we still have a strong connection and speak on the phone about once a month.  She came to visit Dad several times when he was dying and has always held a special place in my heart.  She has a curious sixth sense and always seems to know when something is going wrong- call it intuition or compassion or connection, she is always looking out for me. 

When I finally checked my phone I saw her name on the caller ID and was immediately jolted out of bed.  In my early morning fog I was still in that place where dreams meet reality but my mother's image immediately came to mind.  While going for a walk around the block in her North Evanston neighborhood yesterday, she fell forward and hit her face on the sidewalk.  Several good Samaritan neighbors ran out and convinced her to go with them to the hospital (she sprained her wrist, was


Bonnie (center) at her Parkinson's Dance Group

bleeding profusely from the lip, and had cracked several teeth), but after three hours in the waiting room of the ER she decided that she would heal at home.  We were able to make an appointment with the dentist this morning, and fortunately most of the lip damage was in the soft tissue and will heal in it's own time.  The cracked teeth will be repaired next week. 
I stopped off at the grocery store to pick up bananas, soup, cheese, ice cream, soft foods.  My friends at the coffee shop made her special double-tall skim latte, for gratis.  Back at her house I put away the groceries and listened to Mom try to work things out in her head.  I think she was in as much (or more) shock and frustration as I was.  Every other time Mom has fallen, she's brushed it away with, "oh, the sidewalk was uneven," or "I was wearing the wrong shoes."  Today, she sat at the kitchen table and admitted that she had no idea what happened.  I tried to get some clarity- Did you feel dizzy?  Weak?  Were you shuffling you feet?  These are all symptoms of Parkinson's that Mom has dealt with in the 13 years she's had the disease.  But no, she insisted, she was feeling great, which left us both at a loss with how to move forward. 

I needed a breather and went into the basement, where some of Dad's old furniture had been in storage since I moved him out of his apartment 6 years ago.   A dining room table, an exquisite dresser, several pieces of art, some bookcases.  In a few weeks I'll be moving from the studio apartment I've called home the past nine years into a 2-bedroom apartment a few blocks away.  I'm excited to be able to have people over and feel at home in my own space.  I am honored to be able to put Dad's old pieces to use and continue their legacy- he and Mom had many of them before I was born.  But still, there is nothing I would want more than for him to see me through this next chapter.  He always wanted the absolute best for me, and stayed beside me when times weren't so great.  I know he would be so proud of me right now and would want to help out however he could.  There is nothing I wouldn't do to be able to share a glass on wine on my new back porch...we've talked in every other setting and to finally have him see me as an adult would be the ultimate compliment and validation. 

I still have two weeks until I move and am trying to get the last-minute stuff together.  I'm trying not to sweat the small stuff.  I'm trying to remember to have fun.  I'm tired.  I'm looking forward to the next chapter.  I want nothing more than to be able to share this with my Dad.  I want nothing more than for my mom to be safe.  I don't have control over either of these.  I can appreciate the little things, like how Mom's neighbors stayed with her late last night and how I went to my local wine spot tonight and a friend immediately said, "you look like you need a hug."  So we'll do this.  We'll move forward.  We'll take the next chapter.  But I'm a slow reader and I need to pace this stuff out.