Underwater Understanding

Understanding can come in the strangest of places.  Empathy.  Tolerance.  Peace.  Sympathy.  Love.  All of it was waiting for me underwater this morning.

Just like every Tuesday, the alarm went off a 4:25am and I headed to the pool to get my laps in.  It's MY time.  It's not the most convenient of times or the preferred time, but it is MY time and that makes it worth the early morning wake up.

I look forward to my swim - 35 to 40 minutes of not-very-impressing lap swimming that keeps my knees and feet working, makes my arms and back strong, clears my mind and makes me proud of myself for making this healthy change to my life.  I look forward to the people I see every morning too.  Not that 5am'ers are very chatty.  We are focused...okay, they are focused.  I am thrilled to be in the presence of other adults who don't need anything from me! 

This morning was different.  No other swimmers.  No need to rush to secure my favorite lane.  And no Spencer, my odd little lifeguard friend.  Oh well, everyone else was probably just running late.

Nope!

I swam for 25 minutes before Long-Tall Swimmer emerged from the locker room to join me.  And it was in this strange solitary swim that I think I may have gotten a better understanding of what mom is going through every day.

I was completely aware that I was the only thing the lifeguard (who I recognized, but didn't know) had to watch.  He's a lifeguard - clearly a more accomplished swimmer than me.  He's a kid, maybe 20, so obviously in much better physical shape than me.  And it was 5am, so he'd probably be thrilled to lay down in the Aquatics office - which he could have done if no one had shown up to swim.

I was underwater where I continue to struggle with breath control.  I'm better than I was, maybe better than I ever dreamed I would be, but swimming requires so much control to be able to swim any distance.

It was dreamlike.  Because even though it was strange to have the entire pool to myself - I always dream of that - especially on days when there are 9 or 10 of us in 3 lanes.

At about lap 3 I started to compare this to what it must be like to have Alzheimer's.  Recognizing people, but having no idea who they are except to know that your life may depend on them at some point.  Knowing that those around you are more able.  To remember.  To do physical tasks.  To function.  And the feeling that (whether it's remotely true or not) that that same person would be happier if you weren't around because you are making work for them.

The struggle for control is something I think I see in mom all the time.  Not to breathe, but to keep her hands from shaking or find a word that's gone missing.  All the while trying to hide it from us. 

Dreamlike kind of goes without saying.  She is in a dream.  Every day.  The other day she asked me "if anything was going on today?" and I told her I wasn't sure (the answer that seems to work better than other answers right now) and she smiled and told me she knew!  She's probably talked to 20 or 25 people today and couldn't remember if any of them had said what was planned for the day.  And she wasn't lying.  She wasn't trying to be deceitful.  I believe in her mind she did have conversations with those people.  Whoever they are.  Maybe old classmates from high school.  Maybe friends from when her and daddy were young.  Maybe people at the motel or at the country club or at Meadowlakes or the hair dresser.

Then at lap 19, Long Tall Swimmer showed up and I was glad to see him.  Glad to talk about the crazy Iron Man Swimmers, make small talk about the warm weather and get back at it.  Glad to have had the solitary swim experience to make me better at caring for mom, especially being patient with mom, but really glad to be able to get back to reality.  I wish I could find a way for mom to get back...