Lost Ukranian Memories

Last night the Ukranian dance troupe Voloshky was in DuBois.
I thought, "Mom was an exchange teacher to Russia in the 90's.
She will enjoy this,"
so we made plans to pick her up.

My mom is 71 and looked great,
red turtleneck, black pants, and a black and red sweater,
hair freshly washed,
rail-thin but energetic.

Mom, are you ready to go?
Not really. I had a lot of company and they just left.
She stood by the counter and folded some paper napkins.
Who was here?
I don't know.
Patty?
Yes.
We employ Patty from 8-6 daily to attend to Mom's needs,
but she sees Patty as company
and lets her do very little.
Get your coat on.
Do I need my Bible?
No. We're going to see dancers.

The car was filled with the powdery smell of an old lady.
When did that happen?

On the way, we stopped at the Goodwill store
and ran into a friend of mine.
We all chatted,
but when I thought Mom was shopping,
she was following Leslie around.
Denny watched their conversation from the car
and reported that Mom showed Leslie the unnecessary safety pin at her wasteband
and the baggy crotch in her pants.
Upon leaving, she carried up a broken ninety-nine cent picture
of a harlequin child with enormous eyes.
Mom, do you want that?
Yes!
This from a woman who lives with hundreds of dollars of original artwork.

We found a seat in the auditorium and waited.
Mom told the talkative women behind us that she loved to hear old ladies laugh,
then unnerved the child in front us
when she touched her and whispered some cheerful comment.
During the colorful, entertaining performance,
Mom failed to recognise the recurrance of the Master of Ceremonies.
Who is that man?
Each appearance of the instrumental soloist brought
What is that? Is it a piano?
She was in each moment, but the moments never connected,
as she repeatedly obsessed about the coats on the seat beside her.
Are these things yours?
Are these things yours?
Are these things yours?

Upon leaving,
she ran away from us
up to an unfamiliar vehicle and opened the door.
You all are the nicest-looking old ladies I've seen all night!

She'll have no memories of the dancers today;
they were probably gone before she got into the car.


Mom has always been a friendly person,
a people person,
many students' favorite teacher
who corresponded with loads of them for years,
who led hundreds of Bible studies
and led many people to faith in Jesus Christ.
The friendly part is still there
but the marbles cracked one night about ten years ago
when she hit the ice with her head.
More marbles seem to be cracking with increasing regularity.

Why?
"For now we see through a glass darkly,
but then, face to face."
Mom in her best moments realizes that there is a glass,
and often wishes that she were on the other side of the glass.

Until then, we are faced with many questions,
today's being:
Is it worth making others uncomfortable
and insulting older women
to enjoy disjointed, ephemeral moments of interest?
Should I follow up Mom's comments with whispered apologies and explanations?
What if she hears?

The jury is still out.

Sue