Breath and Water

My mother has Alzheimer’s. A few years ago, when she was still able to (sort of) do some of her own shopping, we would go to the grocery store together. Most of these trips were boring affairs, but one incident proved to be mind-blowing and thought provoking.

We were wandering in the bread aisle. I had the list, and I told my mother to pick up a package of English muffins since that was one item on it. I turned away and went on to the next thing since she was standing directly in front of the muffins. When I came back, I found her staring at the shelves filled with exactly what she wanted.

I asked her what was wrong, and she told me she couldn’t find them. I pointed to them, and she responded that she was looking for the words “English muffins” on the labels (only the brand name was prominent, along with the muffins themselves visible through the plastic).  I was stunned, and asked her again what she was looking for.  She again told me.  It was a pivotal moment for me. At the time, her Alzheimer’s was not yet officially diagnosed.

She could see the muffins, the same type she’d eaten for decades, through the wrapper. She could see the brand name. But she didn’t see the magic words, and that was what mattered. Her mind couldn’t interpret the direct image of the literal, physical muffins themselves, or the other words on the package that could have hinted at the contents.

My mother was diagnosed shortly thereafter, and now lives in a nursing home.

I, on the other hand, was left with this incident lodged in my consciousness. It floated around there for a while, all tied up with other memories of my mother, but eventually it took on new meaning.  The “muffin incident” as I call it has grown into something downright philosophical, and prompted some questions that remain with me to this day.

What do we really see?

What is it that is right in front of me, but yet invisible?

One question at a time… what do we really see?  When I look at the world, do I see it as it is?  As I wish it to be? Am I blinded by my own prior experience?  We all see the world through a lens of our own making, a filter of our own experience and prejudice. A few minutes on social media is enough to convince me of that.  Is someone reasonable or radical?  It might depend on whether or not they agree with me.  Can I see past the label to the real thing? What exactly is the real thing?

I expect I’ll be chewing on that philosophical muffin for a very long time.

And the second question, what is it that is right in front of me, but yet invisible? This is sort of the opposite question. What do I NOT see? What is the insight staring me in the face that still remains elusive? What blinds me? What holds me back? Considering this reminds me of the verse in the Christian scriptures where we are reminded not to fuss about the speck in another’s eye while there is a log in our own.

Realizing that like my mother, I am prone to trust my own preconceived notions, rather than the reality staring me in the face helps me to be a more compassionate person if I let it. It allows me to try to see through another’s eyes.  I can grow. My vision expands. I begin to remove the log.

Another insight from this whole experience is that I still have a lot to learn from my mom. The culture deems her useless now, a bother, a shell of her former self. And I suppose in some ways she is all of those. But she is also my Buddha and my muse. She lives in the moment. She is not troubled by the wider world. She takes pleasure in simple things.

Here. Have a muffin. You never know what hidden gifts it holds.

Rebecca Hecking shares memories and ice cream with her mother in northwest Pennsylvania, USA.