We had a couple of strong thunderstorms blow through our part of the world last week. Which is not that unusual for this time of the year, when the heat and humidity builds throughout the day, causing storms to crop up whenever their mood strikes.
One night after dinner, as my husband was enjoying his playtime with our two puppies, I stepped outside for a bit of quiet time at the end of a long and hectic day. I sat down on the steps leading down to our backyard and looked towards the horizon. It was that time of the evening when the sunset was nothing more than a hint of a reflection on the remaining clouds hovering over the ridgeline. The storm had passed a good hour before and darkness was rapidly invading the tree grove surrounding the pond at the edge of our property.
Then suddenly, as if switch had been turned on, the tree grove erupted with flashes of soft white lights. Small and twinkling, like starlight coming down from the sky to play with the cool breeze whispering through the trees.
Fireflies. Hundreds and hundreds of fireflies.
At first I simply smiled at their show. But the longer I watched, the more fascinated I became with the rhythm of their dance. It was hypnotic. And all the challenges and annoyances of the day vanished from my mind.
I am not quite sure how long I sat there. It could have been a few minutes. It could have been a few hours. Finally, I broke the trance and went back into the house. And I told my husband he should take in the show, which he did. When he came back inside, he had the same look of wonderment on his face that I knew I had on mine.
I decided the experience was a keeper. But rather than take a photograph, I decided to treasure it as a memory. In my mind, I wrapped it up in a pretty box with pretty bow and stored it in my memory banks in my pretty memory category, so I could bring it out whenever I needed a boost of wonderment.
A few days later, I had a routine visit with my elderly mother. And like the many people who are caring for a loved one who is suffering from dementia, I know I must always be prepared for any scenario. As it turned out, the visit held nothing out of the ordinary. But then, my benchmarks for what is ordinary and what is extraordinary seem to change on a daily basis. At least when it comes to my mother.
My biggest challenge lately has been dealing with my emotional responses to the deterioration I see, not only in her physical condition, but her mental condition. Each time I visit her, it gets harder and harder to keep the mask of normalcy on my face. And not replace it with a mask of debilitating sadness.
And until recently, the methodology I had developed was working just fine. But for some reason, a chink in my armor has appeared in these past few months. Perhaps I am simply on an emotional overload. My limit has been reached. It is as if I have developed an allergic reaction to watching this once lively and independent and intelligent woman who is my mother simply fade away before my eyes. What once I could handle, now seems unbearable.
Good news is I know I am not alone. I have my support system with friends who have been there and done that. And most importantly, a husband who is always at my side no matter the situation. WIth their help, and a personal treasure hunt to find that well of fortitude buried deep inside me, I know as long as I keep putting one foot in front of the other, I will be just fine.
And when the going seems as if it is getting too tough, I know I have my pretty box dressed with a pretty bow stored in the pretty memory category of my mind. And it is filled with the wonderment of an evening dancing with the fireflies after the chaos of a summer thunderstorm. It reminds me there is joy to be found, if you simply take the time to look and effort to see.