All that was going on in life and we never noticed

As I may have mentioned a time or two, Mom has always been one to enjoy an adventure.

Mom always enjoyed taking golf
cart rides on the trail behind
our house.

When she could still verbalize, a visit with Mom meant a trip somewhere and would also include -- 99.9 percent of the time-- going out for coffee before retuning home.

Mom no longer asks to go anywhere. Even if she could put into words what she so desperately wants, there is no way with her mending hip we could venture out of the confines of the nursing home. Although Mom is walking -- with assistance -- she is very unsteady. None of us wants to be responsible for another fall and another broken hip.

But even in her wheelchair-bound state, Mom still likes to travel. Apparently this past week she spent much of her time scooting around the the nursing home. In fact, she scooted so much that one morning when I went to visit I found her sleeping soundly in a recliner. Apparently she was exhausted from a day of wandering prior to my visit. The staff at the home said they could not wake her for breakfast. She was dressed and clean and looked comfortable. But she was sound asleep. At 92 I think she deserves to do whatever she wants so I spent my visit holding her hand.While she slept I studied her face.

I was frustrated with myself because I can't remember what she looked like while I was growing up. Oh, I can picture her dressed for church on Sunday. I can picture her at the ironing board ironing everything -- including Dad's boxers. But I can't remember what her face really looked like.

I would prefer not to remember Mom as the little old lady sitting in the recliner with her mouth open and her head leaning back. I would prefer not to remember Mom as the little old lady who tried to open her eyes to see who was holding her hand but was just too exhausted to accomplish that feat. I want desperately to remember the face of my mother when she was whole -- when she still knew who I was.

Like Emily Webb in Thorton Wilder's play Our Town, I wish I could go back and really pay attention to what she looked like. The line from Emily's monolog plays over and over in my head: I didn't realize. All that was going on in life and we never noticed.

But it's not just Mom I can't remember. For the life of me I can't remember what King looked like the day we were married. Just as Mom was always Mom, Dad was always Dad, my children were always my children and King was always King, I never really noticed what was really going on. I never memorized their faces.

I know that after Mom is gone I will have an occasional flash of memory. Just as I  have with Dad. For a long time after Dad died I remembered him as the tired old man lying in a hospital bed. Now I occasionally will think of him on his sailboat. Or sitting at his desk in his office. I don't see his face clearly, but I remember him.

And now it's time to really notice.