The tangles of the mind...

Coping with my mom's short term memory loss

Yesterday was a day of meditation. Mom had balls of yarn that were a tangled mess. The first one was small; I had it sorted in one sitting. The second was massive. My sister-in-law, also a crochet aficionado, believes mom is starting from the wrong end of the ball.

The yarn I am currently detangling is one of those progressive balls that changes from black to dark grey, to lighter grey, then white and finally pink. Mom has begun her projects in multiple places; two partially formed creations and a row of running stitches are hanging from the entanglement at different locations. The pink is nearly gone.

It looks like a colourful bowl of spaghetti spilling off the small table; it reminds me of the state of my mother’s mind. There are places where the wool is nearly pulled apart due to the strain of being forced, places where knots have formed making them nearly impossible to separate, and places that are felted together, the mats nearly impossible to discern one strand from another.

One half of the yarn is pristine; pulling thread in one long unhindered loop making the work effortless, like the stories that flow of her none too distant past, perfectly in order and told exactly the same in each telling.

Choices we make in life are like this; some flow effortlessly, magic in their ease, allowing us to create beauty, magic, warmth, and comfort. We lose ourselves in the miracle of creation. Others are tangled, messy, tight, and knotting with force and pull; much resistance is encountered.

Some people recognize they have the option to unravel the past, smooth out the tangles, and start fresh. Yes, we may need the help of someone with better eyes to see the places the knots have formed, with skills to smooth the ripples in our mind, taming worrisome threads.

Other weavers of life feel stuck in their choices, wrapped up in tangles of regret and worried knots of their life choices; tugging at the tangles and making them worse.

If only we made the choice to unravel, to learn from our past and start fresh, perhaps employing a guide, maybe a friend who has seen the pattern, who has navigated the twists and turns of the hooks. Some look at a beautiful creation of others and are too shy, stubborn, or afraid to ask how it was made.

My mom’s mind is like this; full of knots, tangles, twists of the bad, sad, and mad experiences. There is an unexplored territory right next to the paths worn thin and cords pulled tight tangling her to the villains of yesterday; most who are no longer here taking part in the creation of the present.

I wish I could help. I wish I could disentangle her from the sadness. Instead, I will work on the parts she hands me and send love to the rest. That is all I can do.

Thank you for sharing this journey with me.