My mom's brain hasn't been too well the last few days so on days when her body hurts and she can't get around and her brain is fuzzy, when I put her to bed I spend longer standing there and smoothing out the wrinkles of the day.
It's pretty easy. I just scratch her head, and then smooth my hand across her cheeks and forehead and neck, just polishing her up quietly until she calms down. It's dark and sometimes I picture weird things like her at my old elementary school, Roosevelt, in Santa Monica, when she'd bring cookies to my after school chorus practice, and nights when she'd be at the PTA meeting there and I could frolic around the school knowing she was in that little pink room with the other handful of moms. Those are the nights she polished me up when I was going to bed. Scratching my head and talking gently to me. When I was the bear cub.
I felt today when I was hanging by her bed polishing that really all I'm here to do is nurture these beings in my care, love the animals of all leggeds, write funny things, and learn as I go. Really, there isn't much to life. There are so many bear cubs. We all need the touch, support, soft words, each other.
