Author: Jana Horton

(I have written a similar blog, but this is a bit different, as the days after her accident have become years.)

I had a profound revelation today concerning my mom. She lives in Regents Park, an upscale assisted living complex.

Her memory is from day to day. She is my ‘50 First Dates’ mom. (See the cute movie if you don’t understand the reference.)

She rarely remembers what happened yesterday.

The accident that took my dad’s life in the summer of 2018, left my mom in a state of mental limbo. Her brain injury precipitated a dementia that is both cruel and merciful.

She remembers us (for now). Thankfully.

She, however, has no memory of what happened yesterday. On good days that is what you get; my mom, who has no memory of yesterday.

On bad days she works in a twenty minute loop. “I love your sweater.” Nineteen minutes pass, “I love your sweater!” Nineteen more minutes until she again voices her love for my sweater.

It used to drive me nuts.

Frustrated by her continual loop, I’d try to divert the conversation so that I wouldn’t have to hear of her profound love for my maroon sweater.

Then? I accepted it.

My mom was doing what she does best. She was kind. She was complimenting me. She showed her love and let me know she was happy that I (in my maroon sweater) was visiting.

I cannot change the situation in which we find ourselves. I CAN change the way I react to it.

This is my profound revelation.

She is not in control of her memory; of what she does or does not know.

She is not in control of remembering what she has or has not already voiced.

I AM in control of loving her, no matter what. I am in control of making her feel warm and accepted. I can accept her compliment (every time she gives it) with appreciation and grace.

I can show her that I love her and that I am thankful for her kind words and the time we share.

I am thankful for my maroon sweater.

More?

I am thankful for This Mom.

I am a time- gapper.

I live my life caught between six generations. I fill a gap in time that reaches from distant past to unknown future.

I knew and received love from those who were born in the 18th century.

I see the kinetic energy, marvel, and unadulterated love of children born in the 21st century.

I live my life, having been shaped by the love of both great-grandparents, grandparents, parents, children, and grandchildren. Six generations in succession; three before, and two after.

Suspended in time, as I am, I watch from my peculiar perspective as the world unfolds.

I see a few constants. I see a Star for the navigation of my soul. I see both love and hatred weaving their way through history.

Yet, I have my fixed point in time and space as a reference.

I have the shared knowledge of family; their horrific trials, true triumphs, and wrenching tragedies.

Reaching into the 18th century is an understatement, in that I have heard family stories from a time known only to historians and 9th-grade history students.

My knowledge of time is telescopic.

Polaris- the North Star has been the guide for many a mariner.

I have a different guide for who I am.

I have a God-given family, which tethers my heart while fueling faith in Possibility.

I have an unusual gift.

I have ancient eyes.

I stand in this gap in time, and in wonder, I see the past and touch the future.

I am a time- gapper by gifted grace, anchored to HOPE for our Future by the sparkle in my granddaughter’s eye.

Though I wasn’t looking-

I found myself in Colorado,

it was somewhere along an

Archuleta river plateau.

I was in the whisper of the wind

as it sighs through the trees;

in every glistening rock

and every gale-force breeze,

in the cool mountain air

saturated in the Springtime sun,

and I was in the glorious skyline

as the day was done.

So now, the question that I ponder,

what I just can’t see

is if I am in Colorado;

who is that living in me?

5/28/2010

There is a beauty in small inconsequential things

like the iridescent spot on a monarch’s wings

fluttering by and concealed by motion, by flight

unseen, but for a fleeting ray of silver light.

Small things, such as a sparkle of glitter in sand,

a bump on a toad, a freckle on a hand.

Beautiful things: small, tiny, and often obscure,

the radiant, the glowing, the plain, the pure.

Simple pleasures are for simple innocent minds,

who take unexpected joy in these treasured finds.

They seem unimportant in the great global scheme,

but cause a heart to wonder, to reflect, to dream.

Open your eyes fully, and see what the wind brings;

simple beauty in inconsequential things.

08/2010

Life is but a mist or a vapor.

Our years on Earth transitory.

Realizing this is the key to grasping meaning.

Our moments in Time are filled with myriad emotions, sometimes unceasing sorrow, other times inexpressable joy.

Change is a force moving us through Time, often without our consent, or desire.

Meaning, therefore, must be found not situationally, but intentionally.

Is Purpose individual or universal?

Are we nothing more than microcosms in a macrocosmic universe?

Are we moved along by chance and force only: or is there choice?

Pain, suffering, poverty, grief, and loss are not generally choices that are made, but instead, situations that are thrust upon us.

Choice comes in reaction to the situation, not in the situation itself.

Choice is critical, though often uncomfortable.

If indeed our lives are but a stitch in the fabric of Time, where is meaning found?

Meaning is found only in perpetuity.

Intentionally.

Life on Earth is transient.

Time, however; infinite.

I had a strange thought about that which is mine.

Someone was talking about my little brother saying derogatory things about him. The funny thing, is that what was being spoken, was the truth. He did those things. He was unwise in many ways. (In truth, aren’t we all at times.)

The negative words about him, however, caused me to react in my soul differently than I would have reacted, had I heard those same things about any other man.

In my soul I screamed, “yes, but he is mine! He is my brother. What he did does not define him. My love defines him.”

My brother passed away many years ago. He is gone but he will always be mine.

The strange thought I had, has to do with God. Does God love me for no other reason than because I am His? He brought me into His family.

When HE hears derogatory things about me, does He scream, “She is Mine.”

I believe HE does.

I am His. He owns my heart and my soul.

Mine.

A newly comforting word.

Am I who I am because of my DNA?

Am I who I am because of emotional encounters? Nature versus nurture is an age old debate.

I wonder if DNA dictates just my stature, diseases, and propensities; or does it play a significant part in the way I process information in the pathways of thought?

My intellect is certainly partially genetic. Thought. Reason. Ability. Is it ALL dictated by the genetic code I inherited? OR. Is there a spirit, a soul, an inner me who is able to take that which was given to me genetically, and shape it?

Am I able to become who I want to become, or must I become that which I was designed to become?

Nature or nurture?

Both I believe.

A question for a scholar, perhaps?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Loving the laughter and chitter-chatter the language of smiles is all that matters.

Different Nations converge on a train… babies, toddlers, an old man with a cane.

Spectacular views, a serpentine track, vivid blues, baby-leaf-greens, and coal-black.

Chug-chugging engine and cool Mountain breeze… heavenly vistas, vibrant diverse trees.

Glittering rocks, living sparkling streams, time stands still and lets Eternity dream.

Until…

Rabid rivers, rushing, raging, racing. Past and present, current, churning, pacing.

Running down river at a break-neck-speed,

to where waters wander; unconfined- freed.

On the train smoke wafts, on the wind of whim.

Soot, seeking eyes, makes my vision dim.

There are billows and puffs and charcoal smells

And somewhere deep inside; my spirit swells.

Chug-chugging engine and cool mountain breeze,

City-hardened-heart begins the unfreeze;

on the Narrow Gage.

Vacation time is full of dreams and of wishes

of quiet listening to pine branch swishes…

Bees and beetles, cacophony of crickets …

Wild beasts in the brush and the lush green thickets.

Rest and peace; soul-solace at last.

Just a blink.

It vanished too fast.

Time. Who knows you? Where do you go?

Though I need you, you seem my foe.

My soul can drink the song of the bird; sounds of Forrest, I have never heard.

But ticking so loudly and beating so clear

The sound of the clock and my heart I do hear.

Dreams. Wishes. Must you really wait?

Invisible soul; dormant state?

Quiet listening; clear blue thought,

Elusive joys, may you be taught?

janatisdalehorton.com