From writings about helping my father as he completes his life.
I slide my arm under his shoulders to move him gently onto the pillows. He is all skewed and will wake with a crick in his neck if he sleeps too long that way. As I move him, he opens his eyes and gazes at me. Pure pure pure love. He smiles. All his face arranges itself around the feeling of happiness. Read more
I kiss his dry cheek this morning, hold his papery hand. The vinegar smell, the smell that always worries me, the scent of something fermenting, turning, is gone. Today he smells clean and strong despite his bones rising up to the skin. Read more
Caregiving is detail. As detailed, nonverbal, and spatial as dance. Our ace guy is Jermaine Cardoza who comes three or four times a week to give Dad a head to toe sponge bath. Washing 180 pounds of deadweight or rigid body is no easy gig, but Jermaine extends both his hands with ease, gives a one word cue, “Stand,” and my father places his hands in Jermaine’s. With a wisp of effort, Jermaine leans slightly back and Dad rises out of his chair. No muscling. No grabbing under his armpits to drag him up. Read more
Late night. Alone in my bed. The wind sighs heavily in the maple trees, sifting through branches with fewer and fewer leaves to rustle. The sound sits on me. I feel my feelings. Windows of connection with my father shrink. There are no longer infinite moments. I digest this. I feel this.
Earlier he woke from a long nap in his chair, befuddled and peevish. I settled at his feet, took his clammy, boney hand and gazed into his eyes. He gazed back, curling his fingers around mine the tiniest amount. He has grown so weak. Read more
I am a Dragonfly
I have no waking moment I am not watching Dad, helping him, but I have found sizable chinks in the fabric of our day to do self-focused movement. This then helps me to do every other physical action as a ‘dance’–lifting his legs, washing his hands. Read more
Getting from one chair to another. Five steps. Pushing down on the arms of the chair, engaging his shaking thighs, standing in a crumple, and inching one foot forward, then the other, grasping a table edge, a doorknob, the stepping stones of the room. He knows every bump and outcropping of furniture and makes his way like an old mariner on a pitching deck. Read more
We arrive home on a perfect autumn day. Dad is excited, wants to see everything, all the rooms, touch the furniture. We walk out back. Two lofty maple trees and languid drapes of honeysuckle and jasmine frame a scrolling hill. We stop to gaze at the view he has always loved. A coywolf arrives between the banks of green on the lower hill. He looks at us. Dad catches his breath, alert and delighted, and gently points. We stand very still watching the coywolf who stands very still watching us. A good omen. Read more
POSTPONED! Thank you for your interest and stay tuned for new date in 2014.
Move into your body and breath, the music, your Heart Center. Move into Contentment and Intimacy with The Divine Eternal. Sacred Dancemeditation with Spiritual Slumber Party, Simple Sufi dinner included and free BYO-Bedding sleep-over accommodation in the Sacred Movement Arts studio. (Or bunk down at a local motel in Bastrop.)
Nov 9-11 (Veteran’s Day Weekend) Sa 10-6 ~ Su 10-6 ~ Mon 10-2 Read more