Travels with Remo - Part 2

 Playa Del Rey, June 26, 2020

After battling traffic for over five hours, we finally arrive at my mother’s house.  I am realizing more and more that after the 18 years of directed captivity, many are taking advantage of their release from temporary confinement. Airports, roads, restaurants are packed.  Hotels are booked and it is hard to get a rental car or reservations for available activities.  It is open season for entertainment and indulgence, and travel shows it.  The break in the heat is nice, but the location is kind of a bear – it’s a condo, and Remo is a 115 lbs. German shepherd.  So, getting him out of the car and in the building involves opening and closing multiple doors and waiting for elevators.  I feel like I am moving a prisoner and stopping at check points.  God forbid I let him off of leash in the complex.  It has nothing to do with him, he listens – excepts if he sees a cat (or a squirrel) – it is the pretentious populous of the building.  But we arrive at my mother’s abode as I look like a Sherpa carrying all of my bags and necessities for our visit (I want to take as few trips as possible).

I keep forgetting either my key or my key fob to get into my mother’s house.  I don’t want to read too much into it, but on my last 2 visits, I have misplaced either of those, which adds my plight and, of course, aggravates my mother – a small bit.  It is cool and damp.  My mother’s home does not get any sunlight, nor does it have proper air flow.  It faces the driving alley on the first floor and is located just above one of the entrance gates.  The air conditioning doesn’t work.  She says she doesn’t need it, but there are those 3 – 4 days a year when it is a nice change from stagnant air that attempts to roll through the house.  I have prepared to enter the eclectic gallery that is my mother’s home.  I wonder what the newest collection that is on display is.  Actually, there is not much because her recent trips have been cancelled because of the pandemic.  She has also done a better job at putting her excursions either on a digital format or in a specific travel notebook – so at least that one be thrown in my face once I enter.  Yes, I am usually handed things as soon as I get in.  It is either a list of to-do or her recent trips, and again, the later seems to be out of the picture. 

I enter, and I already have a list of things to do.  “It doesn’t have to be done now, but when you can,” she says.  I am moving inside this dark hallway into the museum that is my mother’s home.  There are pictures and nick knacks all over the house from the years of her career and travels across the globe.  Throw rugs fill every floor area on top of the carpet.  Every major walkway has a throw rug. I am going to pick those up because she is going to have a walker and a walking boot in a few days, so I need to get rid of anything else she can trip over once she returns from her procedure.  Remo is at my feet, excited that I have returned from my distant travel down to the parking garage to carry the rest of all our materials for our stay – exit date has not yet been decided.  Remo runs to me, then runs into the kitchen to get water, then follows me into the second bedroom to see what I am doing, then back to the kitchen to get some more water.  I can’t blame him.  He has been stuck in the car for over 5 hours with a short potty break, so he has energy to burn.  The crazy thing is that I look at Remo as my traveling companion; I talk to him, we stop and eat together, and walk and contemplate things together, but I have to do everything.  So unpacking and setting up our guest room is a one man job, and then I need to give him a short walk so he can stop acting like a drunken midget on acid.  “Can I help with the bed?  Put that stuff over there.  Put that in the corner.  You might want to open up the window.  What were you thinking of making for dinner?”  Oh yes, the only child returning home and doing his best to nod and say “yes,” and “I will,” and “I am not sure” as often as appropriately that I can as I set up our station.  I have knocked down 2 picture frames off of a book shelf and almost fell over Remo twice.  I smile and chuckle to myself – this is what it is.

I love my mother.  Our relationship has grown closer after the past 2 and a half years, but it is still what it is.  It is hard to get things of my mom when I ask questions.  She is very much set in her ways, as she has always been.  Very much an opposite perspective on the world, so much so I continue with my understanding and nodding reaction.  It is hard to have difficult conversations with someone who just takes things personally and then brings any situation or discussion back to themselves.  I finally get a chance to take Remo for a little walk to relieve himself and calm down, now I get a chance to sit for a moment.  “Are you going to cook the salmon for dinner?  If not, I can have something else.  Tomorrow you can help me with some of the stuff on the list.  I have church at 9.”  Yep, it continues to come.  I am here to help her, and I am glad to help her and she will need my help, but this is not a vacation.  I do get to enjoy the nice weather and I am grateful that I get to use the spa to relax in the evening, but I have prepared myself to just take it each day and be aware to pivot no matter what happens. 

I have to add that on top of all of the unique designs and eclectic layout that is pervasive across my mother’s home, she also is a baseball fan, well actually, she is a Dodger fan, so guess what we are watching this afternoon?  I have made myself a little snack and sit down on the couch to eat, my mom does not eat at the table, it is filled with more decorations so it would be more painful to move and then replace it for each meal.  I have a phone thrust in my face.  “Talk to Carol,” my mom says – her sister my aunt.  My mother is notorious for this.  I arrive and then a phone is given to me – talk to fill-in-the-blank.  It has gone so much that she would call me from a party she was at and hand the phone to someone for me to talk to.  I don’t get it.  I stop chewing for a moment, “I know you hate when I do this.” I don’t respond and talk to my aunt for a few moments.  It is the timing, I just started to eat and had food in my mouth and a phone is now in my face.  This is considered normal behavior.  People have to want to grow.  And that is what I fear about this surgery.  She has had them before, she had to get her shoulder worked on, she got her knees realigned and she had surgery on the same foot a few years ago, but she is a terrible patient for recovery because it throws her off of her schedule.  One thing I have learned is that things change, and many times keeping a routine is not possible within certain situations.  Yet, most of her complaints will be about the ability to not do what she wants to do each day. 

The biggest thing I have to do is to stay centered.  I need to stay within myself and not allow my mom to trigger me as she has in the past.  She was a wedge between my ex-wife and myself in the past, and now I wonder if she was doing it on purpose – meaning she always feared something was going to happen.  I don’t blame my mom for my divorce the actions and lack of communication were on me and mine alone, but the extra pins and needles when getting together did not add positivity to our matrimony.  Nevertheless, the key is to realize that her actions are hers, her words are hers, her opinions are hers, and her energy is hers.  I cannot allow her to penetrate me in any way.  My purpose is to take care of my mom because I love her and I want to help her.  I promised my dad I would make sure I would take care of mom, and I still promise him.  We are products of our environment, but not a finished product.  The more enlightenment perceived, then growth happens.  Evolution happens from willing participants and not repeating patterns.  Sitting, watching, listening and witnessing reminds me more that I will not be in this situation.  I will adapt and be malleable.  Life is not black and white, it is grey.  My mother tells me that she likes to follow the rules, and looks at me and says, “So do you.”  She doesn’t know me, or realize that I don’t always follow the rules, because many are set to keep the mind closed and not free.  I choose to be free, I choose to stay in my body and in my power.  I will stay within myself as I help my mom navigate another episode to find salvation and relief within a physical domain.