Mother's Day

Today was hard.

Rosemarie loved being a mother so much, even during the bad times. She loved our children unreservedly and to me it seemed Mother's Day always had a special magic about it. 

Not any more. 

I can't find notes for last year's Mother's Day but the notes around that date suggest a distracted Rosemarie having real problems communicating or understanding anything. I certainly don't remember it as a glowing success. The year before she was in hospital. 

The family were there today: my daughter still bearing our overdue first grandchild, her husband and our son. There were cards and presents and kisses and hugs and lots of love poured over her.

But no Rosemarie.

There might have been a couple of flashes of half recognition and some chuckling apropos nothing, but no real communication or understanding.  She did not register the cards or presents - or people much - and seemed tired and agitated for most of the visit, leaning her head heavily to the right and moving her feet restlessly.

So all the family events now have a Rosemarie-shaped hole in them. Weddings, funerals, Christmas, birthdays, Easter, Mother's Day.

I passionately hope that something stirs in her when she is introduced to her first much longed-for grandchild. 

If only for a short, precious moment.