from here…

She must have a window seat. This, she promises, is her last phone call for the night, reminding me one more time, it must be a window seat. I tell her I will do my best, the plane seems awfully full, and since it’s a last minute booking, it might be hard. “If I tell you I want a window seat, get me a window seat.”

This phone exchange was at the “just diagnosed moderate stage of dementia.” She had some scary moments – unsettling, jarring, and horrifically confusing moments. Having found her – curled up in a ball, naked – on the floor in her bedroom in Florida while visiting for a long weekend, and she had absolutely no recollection of how she landed there. When I shook her from her sound sleep, she smiled and told me I looked a lot taller than she remembered. “Ma, you’re on the floor.” “Oh. It feels comfy though, you sure it’s the floor?”

A Bat Mitzvah in Scarsdale, New York spurred her into a travel frenzy – wanting desperately to go, stay for few days, and see her family – her sisters, her nieces and nephews. I managed to work it out so a car service (a very kind man who lived on her street) would come and pick her up, drop her off at the JetBlue terminal, and make sure there was no seen or unforeseen problem. I paid the guy to wait an extra half-hour. She was still driving at that time, having just rammed her car into a fire hydrant. A glaring sign that she should never be behind the wheel ever again. “It came out of no where,” she said, “One minute I was sitting there, minding my own business, and the next minute, there it was, crossing the street.” What do you say? Really? “Ma, it can’t walk, a fire hydrant doesn’t walk.” You say nothing, but think plenty. I thought, “Oh shit, it’s really not so far downhill.”

I call the airline, JetBlue, and speak with a reservation agent, who had just the right combination of humor and sympathy and could not have been any more cordial or kind. She promised they will do whatever they could to accommodate my mom, but she needed to remind me that the plane was in fact full, and hopefully someone will be able to move if there was not a window seat available. I ask her if there is a ‘companion’ person who can help my mom get settled. Help her with the boarding pass, and the other unexpected frustrations that may arise. Yes, she says, someone will help my mom. I can only hope and pray for my mother to come ‘face to face’ with kindness. I think of all the times I gave up a window seat for an elderly person, or a pregnant woman, or a wife who wanted to sit next to her husband. I am hopeful, based on my own generosity, in situations like those.

She is picked up at the designated time. She is standing outside her condo with her suitcase and an overnight bag, having packed enough clothing for a month. “Maybe I’ll stay for a few extra weeks, “ she tells me the night before when she lists off all the clothing she’s bringing. I can hear in her voice something I never heard before: loneliness.

She gets to the JetBlue terminal, she checks her suitcase outside with baggage claim, and – I am told by the neighbor/car service driver – hands a crisp ten dollar bill to the lovely bag handler, telling him he is a lovely, lovely kind man. He deeply appreciates her gesture. Little does he know that the remaining eight or so crisp ten dollar bills that she has tucked ever so neatly in her wallet will make their way to others who smile, offer her hand, let her get ahead in line, help her with her carry-on. She makes her way up to the counter, where a ticket should be waiting for her. Yes, there is a ticket, but she must go to the gate, in order to try and get a window seat. This gives her great joy.

She goes through the whole scene – again, I am told by the neighbor/car service guy – the taking off of her shoes, the removing of her belt, the telling a joke or two about her hip replacement, and how it reminds her of the old days in Las Vegas when someone won at the slots, it was a sound filled with ‘good wishes.’ “No More,” she says. “It’s a phony sound, it has no heart. Gimme back my shoes.”

The car service guy cannot go any further with my mom. The rules. The companion person from Jet-Blue now meets her, thankfully.

There is no window seat available. She has an aisle seat. It appears that no one wants to give up a seat. I am horribly sad by this lack of generosity for this old, frail woman, and dare I say, embarrassed, because this old frail woman is my mom. This is where I get to envision the whole crazy scenario. My mother throwing a shit storm of a nut-dance, hauling a racial slur at the African American flight attendant, and then, if that wasn’t enough, causing another passenger who was somewhat overweight to breakdown and cry. “You know how fat you are, you should have your own zip-code.” The administrator later told me on the phone, it was like an unstoppable chaotic ruckus. I am sad. I tell her that my mom has dementia. It comes and goes, but mostly it’s coming these days. I give her all the broad strokes, my dad had died, she’s living alone, we know, we know, it’s time to get her settled, she’s stubborn, she’s independent, and there’s the whole question of what to do now? Move her, or does she stay? And she’s always been much more strident and righteous and defiant. Not going gently into the good night. Not one iota.

She leaves the airport, and manages to get back to her condo by renting a car, even though she is forbidden to drive. I would just love to meet that Avis rental person who gave my mom a red Mustang to tool around in.

She calls me in hysterics. She wants me to fire every single one of those nasty, bitchy flight attendants, and pilots. And the co-pilot, he’s as much to blame. And where is her luggage? Her goddamn luggage? I bet they stole it. They stole it and you should fire them, the whole lot of them. I find out from the very cordial and patient rep, that her luggage is on its way to New York. I am in Los Angeles on business; my brother is at a birthday celebration on Long Island. Nether one of us expected this hailstorm. I try to deal with the airport bureaucracy and arrange for my mom’s luggage to make its’ way to Fort Lauderdale within 48 hours, barring no glitches.

My mother refuses to speak to anyone. She feels duped and lied to and the fat girl should have gotten up. “My God she took up two god-damn seats.” And then she said, “I always, always have to sit at the window.” Why, I ask her, why? She hangs up on me. Typical. Some things never change.

We moved my mom to New Mexico where she was about to start living in an assisted living home. Good care. My brother researched, and found a lovely place that would make her feel just like home. I managed to get her a window seat. As the plane revved up it’s engines and was about to take off, my mom took my hand and squeezed it, staring out the window – watching the plane disappear into the gorgeous white clouds – and after a few long, long, moments, she turned to me, and said: “Up hear, in the clouds, I can dream all I want.” Then she pointed to two clouds, almost inter-wined, and she said with such joy: ‘See that, see that, they’re dancing together. You can only see this kind of magic from a window seat.”

It’s was here that my mother had always been able to see and feel and imagine clouds dancing, forms taking shape, lovers kissing, the intertwining of souls, and as her hand pressed up against the window, she could feel the kindness of Heaven.

Category: Uncategorized 16 comments »

16 Responses to “from here…”

  1. Hollye Dexter

    Oh Amy, what a beautiful and tender story.
    Just stunning.

  2. Madge Woods

    Amy, it is so sad to hear this story. My mom is totally disabled now and has caregivers round the clock to take her out. She can sometimes be mean and yell but no racial slurs. She didn’t think that way before so hopefully it won’t happen. She just accused us of trying to kill her by taking the car and closing her business. This was about 7 years ago. She surrendered but not easily and now she is somewhat demented as well so she just stares a lot and only talks when asked something. Her famous line is “what’s new” and then you tell her and in a minute again with the “what’s new”. The sad part she was so dynamic and smart and ran a business for 49 years now she just stays in bed except for her hair and nails and eating out. I am sure the caregivers push for eating out as they get a free meal in great restaurants. Is your Mom still alive? I have plans to kill myself even if I were like my Mom now. I have felt this way since 20 and my feelings haven’t changed.

  3. Lora

    Gorgeously written Amy. It brought tears to my eyes.

  4. melody george

    Thank you Amy…for everything…


  5. kristine

    the gentleness you have managed in the midst of such an incomparable fight for life and love and truth and endings and beginnings takes my breath away. You teach me with ever word you write, every thought you share.

  6. P WARD

    I am so touched by your experience with your mother. This morning I have been looking for online support as I work through similar issues with my elderly mom who has just moved in with me, my husband and our teenagers. I found an interesting book review of MOTHERING MOM at…also found info on for helping aging parents on Hope this helps anyone dealing with these issues.

  7. Maxee

    This story tugs at my heartstrings, Amy. It reminds me of my dearly departed Mom oh so many many years ago. Although I can’t relate to the part about dementia, I can relate to being a daughter wanting desperately to save my Mom. At the time, I couldn’t understand how such a vital, loving, and happy person could develop Lymphatic Leukemia at the young age of 58 and leave us 2 years later. It seemed so unfair. I still well up with tears remembering and missing her funny self deprecating humor, her generosity, and the unconditional cup runneth over with love she had for us. I know you miss your Mom too.
    Thank you for this remarkably beautiful piece, Amy, my love.
    I ♥ you so. Kisses

  8. Linda tears

    So glad I saved up your blogs for tonite. Needless to say my heart breaks for you and your mom, my sweet sister. My gorgeous, brilliant sweet sister who, no matter what, misses and loves her mom…so many hugs & kisses…

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    assisted living is nice if you got some people and a home that cares very much to its occupants ~~:

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