She had the softest skin

For some reason, I've been remembering my Mom's skin ... especially from the last days but long before of course as well.

She had such soft, soft skin. She loved to hold hands and her hands were old, wizened, thin, spotted with age ... and so, so soft. The skin on her arms was soft. And her hair ... so soft. Even after she died, that Wednesday morning, she was still warm and her skin ... and her hair ... were so, so soft. I remember I just kept stroking her lovely white hair and holding her hands and caressing her arms.

Her back was spotted with age, and she had dark "keratotas" (I'm sure that's the wrong spelling but something like that) all over her back and sides and shoulders. She loved back massages ... which we called "back rubby-down's". It wasn't just the massage that she loved, I think, although she did like that very much. But it was part of our history for as long as I can remember. She says she taught me, as a very young child, to crawl up and down her back as she lay face down on the floor. This was partly a game in which I delighted and she delighted ... but, as she never failed to point out, it sure felt good too. I don't remember the crawling up and down myself.

She said that one time I had been crawling up and down her back and she had dozed off. She woke up, startled, when I had pulled up on one of her eyelids in order to open one of her eyes. She said that I had said that I wanted "to see if you're in there." We both laughed every time she told this story, and she told it many times when I rubbed her back.

I just remember giving her "back rubby downs" and "foot rubby downs" back as long as I can remember.

"Foot rubby downs" for her feet ... she loved those. One of her feet had once developed what we both called a "funny toe." This was the toe next to her big toe, and for some reason, it tended to lay across her big toe. Eventually she had surgery, in Knoxville, that brought the recalcitrant toe back into line with the others. But until then, I never failed, when giving her a "foot rubby down", to gently move this toe back into place and saying something like, "OK, now you stay there!" She would laugh and so would I, since we knew it wouldn't stay there.

While doing "rubby downs" we would chuckle over these things ... and I would ask her, "How's that feel? Is that OK?" and she would smile and say, "Oh yes, that feels so good," or something like that.

These are happy memories of my mother. And I am truly more grateful than I can begin to express that I was able to give her a "rubby-down" the night before she died. I gave her a "foot rubby down", the best I could too, I think; and she was rolled over onto her side so I could give her a "back rubby down" too. She was semi-conscious at the time, really more unconscious, I think, than otherwise, but I definitely remember a wan smile on her face as I rubbed. And I think I asked her, "How's that, does that feel good?" I don't remember her answering; she may have said a soft "yes". But at least she nodded a little. That was how she responded to Yes and No questions toward the end.

I could look back to see but just am not up to it right now. It's all in this blog. I've been afraid to look back, though, because I know things were pretty rough for her toward the end, and I tried to blog as honestly as I could, so I'm sure all that's there too.

But oh the pleasure ... in my memory ... of the last night's "rubby-downs". And oh how soft her hair and how soft her hands and how soft her skin. Soft and warm as I stroked and stroked while waiting for Hospice, and then the funeral home personnel, to arrive.

And by now I can't stop crying. But these are good tears I think. I hope so at least.

But Oh Mom ... OHHHHHHH ... how I miss you ... so so so much. What I wouldn't give to touch your soft white hair and your soft old hands one more time.

I love you and will always always love you Mom.

Your Son,

Charles