A ‘Mocha Moment’
As Sarah walks carefully and hesitantly to the apartment door, she stops for a moment, takes a deepbreath, and sighs. She slips past the living area where all the other residents sit quietly watchingTV. When Sarah arrives, she sees the familiar plaque staring back at her. The bold dark letters announcing her mother’s full name and address stand in stark contrast to the one who sits quietly behind the door. Once vibrant, well read, vivacious, and courageous, the whisper thin woman inside is probably sleeping. She imagines the familiar, grey-haired head tilted against the cherished purple pillow from her granddaughter. She steadies herself against the anticipation of yet another difficult experience. She marshals her patience, bracing for another typical conversation.
“Hi Mom,” she begins cautiously. “Need anything?”
“Yes. I need a toothbrush. Don’t forget to bring me a new toothbrush. Can you please get me a toothbrush? I could use a new toothbrush.”
“Of course I can,” she assures her, fighting back tears as her shoulders slump and her knees begin to shake. Since her latest stroke, this ruminating banter had replaced the confident assertions of a once formidable woman, a woman she always looked to for advice and guidance.
“Anything else?”
Again, she hears , ”I need a new toothbrush, can you get it for me?”
This repeats even after several attempts to redirect her responses fail. Worn down, she changes the subject or ends the conversation. In the stillness that ensues, when the words stop and the anxiety abates, their eyes meet. Here they share a knowing and compassionate look. Sarah reaches for her mother’s hands. They touch, squeeze, and hold on, and once again and she is reminded of why she comes.
There is a saying that “the definition of insanity is repeating a behavior the same way expecting a different outcome.” As she gets into her car, Sarah reaches for her mocha latte like a starving person reaching for bread. Grief is draining. At times like these, she feels as though caffeine is as vital to her life as her blood. It bolsters her, allowing her to keep coming back, day after day, hoping secretly for a different outcome. Through tears that materialize and flow as easily as a rain shower, Sarah recognizes the insanity of knowing there will be no different outcome, regardless of her secret hopes. But in the small spaces of silence, the relationship returns. As she sucks up the foamy chocolate at the bottom of her mocha, she reflects on the success of that quiet moment together. So undemanding, so direct, so simple, so sweet, so present, so full. Holding hands.