I’m driving Highway 14 from Camas, Washington to nearby Vancouver when I see, in front of me, a pale, jagged-edged moon hanging in in
a faded blue sky. Across the water colored painting-like scene, fly two
v-shaped flocks of geese.
It is the week before Christmas. I wanted to stay
home, but my mom needs me. She has mild dementia and it is my turn on weekday
mornings to come see her. I take her blood pressure and oxygen level and
dispense her medications. Then we sit, she in her easy chair, and me in a big
blue recliner across from her. We talk about her memories of my dad, memories
of family members now gone, and about her desire to stay in her home. I assure
her that we’re helping her so she can stay in her own place. My brother Brian
comes in the evenings and my brother Stan spends the weekends with her, as well
as organizing her meds and doctor appointments. It is working well, but I
wanted to stay home this morning. I’ve had some stressful situations with my
granddaughter that I’m raising. I need a mental health day
.
But the scene before me on Highway 14 brings a
feeling of rest to my soul. William Wordsworth, one of my favorite poets, speaks of nature as being a “tranquil
restoration” (“Tintern Abbey” from his collection of lyrical ballands by him and his friend, Samuel Coleridge). When I think of that gift of nature on that morning, I remember the tranquil restoration that it brought to me.