You wonder, is there light beyond the shadows?
Tender erosion and grace
Dear reader,
First and foremost, thank you to every new subscriber who has joined Mo's Magazine and to all the incredible people supporting my craft through donations and pledges. Your support means the world to me. 🧡💫
Before you read today’s essay, please consider this section as a trigger warning.
I write about sickness, my grandfather’s ongoing struggle with Parkinson’s Plus disease, and general thoughts about him. It could remind you of a family member going through similar struggles or people you have lost. I want you to know that although this essay carries elements of sadness & contemplation, I am not sad as I write this. I’m in acceptance of all there is. I am hopeful for relief. My prayers go out to all beings everywhere, especially you, dear reader.
May life force flow through you. May you be light.
Family is the most important part of my life, and my grandparents are at the heart of it all. I often write about my grandmother, but it's my grandfather who is the real gold mine. He raised four kids as the sole breadwinner, taught me math, english, and science, and waited under the scorching sun to pick up my sister and I from the bus stop every day.
About four years ago, he was diagnosed with Parkinson's Plus, a disease that slowly erodes one's ability to move and communicate, leaving a person trapped in a body that no longer responds.
Watching him become a shadow of himself is heartbreaking. Lost muscle. Lost hope. A man once full of life, now nothingness in his eyes. Avoidant. Distant. Fading. Like a vibrant painting gathering dust until it becomes a dirty truth. His joints ache, lacking luster. Every fall in the bathroom is an SOS; every coughing fit a plea: "Please don't let me be this way."
If there's a god, why this suffering? Because there is a god, there is suffering.
God is an idea, a way to make sense of what happens to us. We blame him when things go wrong, and sing his praises when things go right. As if something outside of us is making the dominoes fall. Working the whole earth like a puppet show.
Maybe there is. Maybe there isn't.
What I do know is, we understand and feel pleasure as deeply as we feel pain. The lower we sink, the higher we rise. Duality.
It's so hard when people we love face the end of it. Rational minds become souvenirs on our heads in times of trouble. How do I find hope? Maybe by thinking—at least he murmurs. He still smiles. He remembers my name, my face. There’s a fine silver glistening on his head. He chews with 24 teeth. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
Maybe this is part of a huge butterfly effect.
Life loosens its grip on him, or perhaps has given him another mental mold. This time, passive. Dependent. One that needs nurturing after having tended to his garden of four kids, eight grandkids, and two great-grandkids. How life reverses roles! With a snap of a finger, now he’s thirsty for TLC. Tender Love & Care.
Initially, he buckled. Resisted a helping hand. Scoffed at the walking stick. You lose everything eventually. You can't carry a cute duffle to heaven or hell. You lose your silver hair, your rattling teeth, your white blood cells. You lose all the races your grandchildren let you win.
Dadu lost the ability to shuffle a deck of cards; now they flail and fall everywhere. Lost time. Can’t untie his shoelaces, let alone wear shoes. He is okay being a lost man. In accepting this, he's found relief.
Here’s a short poem I wrote inspired by this.
The softness of time
Piles of wet,
pissy plaid laundry.
diaper poop.
porridge spills on the day shirt.
curry spills on the night shirt.
mouth ajar, tongue resting in his left cheek.
Rancid breath.
Can’t tell if there’s a beat in his heart,
but he blinks, s l o w l y,
so there must be life, some hope.
He erodes with time.
A slippery, slimy slab of river stones.
Like a crystal with softened edges
from being toyed within your palm.
Amidst all this, there is a certain beauty in the erosion. In every blink, every murmur. My old man is as resilient as resilient people come. His life continues to touch ours, even as it fades. His journey, though fraught with pain, is also peppered with moments of grace. There’s hope in every smile, in every memory he recalls.
This is a part of his story, and ours. A story that, despite its sadness, is still being written. With every struggle, there’s an undercurrent of love, of gratitude, and yes, hope.
Thank you for being part of this journey with me. Your support, your presence, makes all the difference.
With love,
Mo
Photos that capture moments as they happen are my favorite. I prefer them over staged, posed pictures so much more. What do you prefer?
“There is no law that gods must be fair, Achilles,” Chiron said. “And perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone. Do you think?
- The Song Of Achilles by Madeline Miller
Nature is brimming with poetry, if you just take the time to listen. This 9-page guide offers everything you need to dive into the beauty of nature with a poet’s eye. From choosing the right location to engaging all five senses, this guide will help you unlock the writing potential hidden in leaves, birdsongs, and morning dew. Bonus resources included for even more inspiration!
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I prefer impromptu photos.
Your post is very moving. It would be easy to just see the negative but I see you count your blessings.
I understand what it’s like to care fire a loved one whose health is failing. My husband and three of our six adult children have a rare multisystemic neurological wasting disease and I witness their decline. No one believed me when I said there was something wrong with our two youngest children, the first diagnoses didn’t come till the youngest was 23, then we all go tested. I have had to educate myself to be their advocate because most Drs have never come across this disease before and don’t understand the dangers of anaesthesia, some medication and many other treatments, so I have to tactfully draw their attention to the research. Having done the research, I know what comes next and try to stay one step ahead. Not easy. Have you ever tried juggling eels?
I am a Writing for Well-being Practitioner. I hope you find writing therapeutic. Using a journal has been helpful to me and engaging with posts like yours, is likewise. Most of all I enjoy writing poetry, somehow, a poem can encapsulate a multitude of feelings and experiences.
Thank you for sharing. Warm wishes to you and yours.
i was isolated from my grandparents because i grew up abroad and came back too late. so one of my biggest fears is this: watching my parents fade with illness. but your words here gave me so much strength and hope, that it will be alright in the end, that it won't be all sadness and pain, that there will still be grace and love and smiles <3 much love to you and your beautiful family, Mohika! thank you for sharing your strength with us!