GLOOM

I've been feeling glum and listless today. I've gardened, cooked and cleaned and even did a little yoga -- but mostly without any joy.

I have so many friends when I'm upbeat, but so lonely when I'm in this mood. I yearn to talk to someone only to give me something to do because I have no interest in any routine activity. I dialed up Preeti twice but she didn't answer. I called Daphne but after a few minutes she had to go.

I did get Mum on Skype after ages. But she was distracted and worried about the cat saying if she didn't open the door and put food out, the cat would sulk and disappear for a long time.

I started watching a Netflix movie with Raphael, but after I was sort of getting into it, he ended it as it wasn't to his liking. I have this thing about ending anything halfway. Even if it's a movie I don't care for, I will usually watch it to the end though there are definite exceptions.I was in no mood to test out another movie only to have it prematurely ended for the second time in the same evening, so I walked out and decided to do a little work.

I did most of the work on an invoice for our Specialty Crops grant.

It's half past nine and I'm waiting to hear from Catherine so I can arrange a ride back home for her. She wasn't feeling too good and needed a ride to the hospital. We got her a Lyft ride as I wasn't going to risk going to the hospital.

I felt like listening to something different so I found Mehdi Hassan listed on one of Uncle Justin's FB posts. Some beautiful old ghazals. I don't understand most of what he's singing. A word her and there.

I think I'll take a walk on the street outside. Perhaps it's cooled down.

Later.
No, it hadn’t really cooled down. It was lovely though to be outside in the open with absolutely no one else in sight.

And Catherine finally was released with a diagnosis of UTI. I could rest after I confirmed she connected with her Lyft driver - which chanced to be a woman which must have helped set her at ease.

STREET DANCING DURING COVID

I called the neighbors to an impromptu party yesterday. At 9 pm, you could tell who the real party animals were.

Monica and Todd - brought out the music box and sparklers.
Raphael and I  arrived with fake fireflies in a jar.
Thirty minutes later Merna returned from her 70th birthday party and joined us.
Henrietta and Steve arrived with Sam --mostly for a social chat.
The women were the serious dancers.
Yeah. Love our neighbors . . . and dancing.

We say goodnight and promise to do it more regularly.

KHARKONGOR ANCESTRY

My Khasi heritage can be traced 17 generations all the way to the first clan mother. As in a matrilineal culture, all descending individuals are mothers.

Ka Mohkynhong / Kharkongor Clan Mother (Circa 1500) Ka Iew Kharkongor Ka Lah Kharkongor Ka Sohmian Kharkongor Ka San Kharkongor Ka Jat Kharkongor Ka Shngain Kharkongor Ka Laitbuh Kharkongor Ka Lir Kharkongor Ka Ron Kharkongor Ka Shkiah Kharkongor Ka Shira Kharkongor Ka Shylluid Kharkongor Ka Queensilies Kharkongor Wallang Ka Birol K Wallang Christo Ka Lorna K Christo Samraj Ka Preeti K Samraj

MOM and MELANCHOLIA

Yesterday on my way out the bathroom, I paused to look at a picture of dad in the hall. He looks into my eyes, a sweet affectionate smile on his face. I feel no sorrow, only a deep love and a close bond. His declining health over a number of years, and many opportunities to visit with him lent me the necessary time to process the loss emotionally before his last day.

As I looked at dad, another thought hit me almost simultaneously, that it would be much different with Mom. That an end to her current physical energy and vivacious spirit would devastate me.

That was yesterday.

This morning, while still in bed I reached for my tablet on the night stand to check my email messages. More often than not, there is one from mom and yes, there was one from her.

In her email she tells me that she has written a lengthy letter to her sister Juanita about her memory of their brother Hunter who died when he was four years old -- many years before my aunt was born. She goes on to narrate some of those details to me. I know the details already as mom has always enjoyed telling us stories from her childhood and youth.

But I was taken aback when she ended her letter with, "Ok my beloved sister, must stop here. Nga Ieit ia phi kat u Shiap ka duriaw . Deng"

I have gotten used to mom's occasional lapses in memory. Her retelling of an event, the repetition of the day's activity. Surely, there's room for memory lapses without raising alarm. I mean, Mom spends a lot of time writing emails everyday to her children and her sisters that it's inevitable she will repeat herself.

More recently though I've noticed a lack of focus in her emails. In a few emails she has repeated herself in the same email. It caught my attention the first time but I didn't think it was a big deal. Sometimes she is interrupted in her writing by power outages, or a trip to the bathroom, or some other chore that delays her finishing a letter until sometime later.

Today, I am deeply alarmed. For mom to forget by the end of her email that she was writing to me is disturbing.

I want to go to her. I want her to stop cutting up newspapers and thinking of Covid. Instead I want us to cook and clean together, look at old photographs and play Boggle. I want to put my arms around her and hold her for a long time. I want her rooms filled with our chatter; hear our laughter ring out loudly.

MOM AND COVID-19

Mom has been clipping newspaper articles from the start of the Covid-19 spread  and putting them into a scrapbook. In a way it’s good to know she has a project to occupy her time because she often reports of having nothing to do and feeling lonely, but I fear that all this time and focus on the pandemic may make her more anxious. Her email letters often quote newspaper headings which she translates into the trouble just before the world ends.

Covid-19 lockdowns have deprived Mom of family visits. I had planned to spend the month of June with Mom. Sonia and Kish were to overlap my visit slightly and be there in July and part of August. John was to be there in April.

COVID DREAMS

We pulled up to my cousin Preeti’s house in our van intending to spend a few days with her and some friends, but when I opened the passenger door and was about to step out, I put my hand up to cover my mouth and gasped, Sweetie, we have to go back home immediately.
Why?
I’ve forgotten my face mask and I’m not wearing my dentures.
We’ll go back home in the morning.
Well, you stay and I’ll return by myself.

I guess we didn’t go back home because the next scene is already upon me.

We are sleeping in what appears to be a huge field bed with lots of people. A strange man is lying next to me. He is asleep. This arrangement can’t be safe. 

Sweetie, I whisper, while everyone else around is asleep. Here’s mother reason why I should be wearing my mask.

Grieving

Leli recommended listening to this Apple podcast on Grief and Finding Meaning by David Kessler and Berne. It was what I needed.

“Judgment demands punishment.”

Have you ever not known what you need? I think this is the story of my life. This frantic doing, this filling up the moments, dabbling in a million pastimes, perhaps this is my subconscious flitting from petal to petal searching to be sated.