Simple pleasures

I have moments of peace these days, and even spontaneous outbursts of senseless mirth--life goes on, though I have to admit, I sometimes feel guilty after them. I don't so much miss the very difficult and ill woman my mother was at the end, as the dream of what might have been had she not suffered so from mental illness. I'm glad she didn't suffer at the end, and I'm actually relieved that I no longer have to make difficult decisions for her, but a part of me wishes I could have had time with her as a healthy woman, free from the ravages of schizophrenia. Its a fantasy of course, but it would have been nice to have someone actually mother me instead of my always being the responsible one. As long as she was alive, there was the hope that she would stay on her medications and return to a semblance of normalcy, where we could have a fairly normal relationship, but now I have to let go of that hope.

I'm moving on, and I have to say that while I am very bitter at Mass General for their (lack of) end of life care for my brother and myself as the family, I do feel much more at peace having finally bathed and dressed her. She's off on her journey to her next life with dignity. It was a difficult thing to do, but I'm really glad I did it myself because it gave me the chance to say the prayers I needed to and for her. In the interests of moving on, I've been making an effort to get out more, to spend time with friends instead of just rattling around at home by myself or with my daughter. Last week I went to the monthly potluck/ church social at the Unitarian Church--it was the same night I got back from caring for my mother, and it was the perfect thing to draw me out of the somber mood that had swallowed me up all day. We had dinner, chatted with each other, sang some rounds, and danced--a celebration of light and life, perfect after the intense immersion of the day in death.

Today I spent the day cleaning and cooking in preparation for the first dinner party I've had since moving to our new place. I was a little nervous that my guests would back out at the last minute, since the housewarming I had planned flopped so horribly. (I had invited people, cleaned, cooked, and set out a beautiful buffet, only to have not even one person show up. I finally put things away at 10 pm and went and rented a movie, but I was terribly disappointed.) To my relief, they showed up--fashionably late as it the norm for "Indian Standard Time", but they showed. For those of you who aren't familiar with Indian time, there are two versions of it: Indian Standard Time, typically an hour late, is invariably kept by Indians from India. Yes, it is a sweeping generalization, but it seems to hold true with most of my Indian friends, at least when it comes to social engagements. Indian time, kept by many American Indians, is even more fluid. It translates to "it happens when it happens." This I know from having been married to one--if nothing else, it teaches you flexibility to an extreme degree.

At any rate, my friends finally arrived, and I got to serve a dinner of dolmas (stuffed grape leaves), salad with my homemade paneer (Indian cheese), and wholewheat pasta with my freshly made pesto--rendolent with the bite of scads of garlic. For dessert was kheer, a rice pudding seasoned with saffron, cardamom and rosewater. I think half the fun was getting to use the good china and setting a formal table, complete with a pot of tea in the silver tea set. We had a lovely time, chatting about an eclectic mix of topics, and giggling when one of my friends decided to mix red and white wine in the same glass and chug it down--what a godawful face he made! I don't suggest you try it--its nasty. After they had left, who should show up at the door unexpectedly but the absolute sweetheart of a man I've been dating. He had left for work earlier as the dinner party was ending, and I hadn't expected to see him until tomorrow morning--it was the coolest thing to get to see him again.

Guilt or no, I have to say that some of the greatest joy right now is savouring my newfound relationship. I feel not only cared for, but cherished, and that is something I have wanted all my life, but only very rarely experienced. I do find myself putting on the brakes emotionally at times, but only because I want to be sure that this is something real growing and not simply a manifestation of my vulnerability after losing my mother, both real and wished for. Meanwhile, I'm delighted beyond belief by the little things he does, like showing up on the spur of the moment tonight. He's a good man and I'm thinking he might just be a keeper. :) Its too bad my mother never got the chance to meet him--I suspect she would have really liked him, schizophrenia or no.