Lost in Translation
Photo Credit: Peter Skaronis
“Times of transition are strenuous, but I love them. They are an opportunity to purge, rethink priorities, and be intentional about new habits. We can make our new normal any way we want.”
~ Kristin Armstrong
This emotional creature is lost in a time of transition as strenuous as it gets. I doubted whether I’d be able to make space to write any of it down, or, more importantly, do justice to the magnitude of this rare, one might say miraculous opportunity. But here it is, Friday morning, and I have a few precious moments to gather my thoughts, to flip through my journal, and share with you, dear reader, what is unfolding. I’ve said a prayer for Divine guidance, that my words pay homage to all the treasured people in my life who are walking the path of this big life transition with me. Here goes…
SO MUCH HAS HAPPENED!!! I arrived in Victoria a week ago, plans made months before for a once in a lifetime family reunion. It was before my Mom’s stroke and fall that fractured her shoulder and shattered my world, which happened on April 7. She’d been in hospital since then, only discharged yesterday to a full-care home, but I’m getting ahead of myself.
Pause. Purge. Rethink.
Life feels surreal. I’m in a theatre, front-row-centre, watching myself go through the motions of living like a puppet in a play with a narrative I didn’t write, a script I’m not familiar with, and characters I know and love, but who aren’t the same anymore because they’ve been molded and sandpapered by so many happenings that I’m not even aware of. Tomorrow tumbles from today in unsteady steps and trip and fall and scrape my core but I get up again, you ain’t ever gonna keep me down. Ubers and airports and Airbnbs. Luggage and car rentals and thank goodness for Google maps and Apps—at least I can get from here to there and back again, Mister at the wheel.
First came the middle girl. I hadn’t seen her in person for over two years, and what in any other situation, or maybe only in a make-believe story, had to be condensed from forever to a few precious moments in time, holding one another on the drive-way, memories of Costa Rica rising up for both of us. Then the only boy, his partner and son, who I’d last seen in April, in a different part of Costa Rica. In the world of my imagination I would have been fully present to the sleeping baby boy, my grandson, but as it was, my mind was a whirl and my heart was tugging my elsewhere, to the hospital, to see my mom.
How do I describe the indescribable? Joy as high as a mountain top, grief as deep as the sea. The woman I greeted, my mother, so frail and vulnerable, her situation untenable, weeks turned to months sharing a hospital room with three other women. Mom’s first words were, “I was looking all over for you,” which is priceless and devastating, because she is bedridden, unable to walk or stand on her own. I glanced on her whiteboard and saw “Lynda and David arrive July 3,” and understood her anxiety immediately because after all, it was after six when we got there, the day almost at an end. Mom showed fusions of confusion related to dementia and delirium, the distractions too many for her to complete even one sentence. Still, she was present to our presence, to our love, and us to hers, and it was enough. It always is.
I massaged her cold, brittle, purple-tinged feet and she sighed, deep from her belly. We shared stories from the past and laughed and cried until it was time for goodbyes, the first of many, but followed by promises to return the next day. Lost in transition, I stared out the window of our car at the beautiful bounty of the Bear mountain landscape, back to our lodgings, where my family had prepared a plentiful picnic supper for us all to feast upon. There were six of us gathered around the table, building bridges with stories of our pasts that melded into the present, to rediscover who we are to one another.
Pause. Purge. Rethink.
Saturday dawned. It was the day of tour of the care home we were hoping would be a good fit for our mom, the only private facility with immediate availability. Mister and I dropped the middle daughter at the hospital, who graciously agreed to facilitate a video call so Mom could join the tour. We met my brother and his wife in the parking garage. We viewed four rooms, and Mom made the decision easy for me when she exclaimed with pure joy how much she liked the large bathroom vanity in the fourth; not to mention the spectacular view of the lush courtyard crowded with plants of all kinds, dark green pine trees that stretched further than the top of the windowsill.
I didn’t have time to focus or dawdle because I still had the next day’s family reunion picnic to sort, having volunteered to cater, and a visit with my mom, all before my oldest daughter and my oldest grandson were due to arrive at the Airbnb for dinner. Remember, dear reader, my daughter and I had only just reconciled last December, and I hadn’t seen my precious grandson in eight years, yet somehow it was being relegated to a side thing or at the very least, one of many huge main things, all clawing at me for their attention, my heart strings pulled so taught I thought they might snap into a million pieces.
I was in the kitchen prepping salads when they arrived. I heard their voices at the front door and I froze, suddenly so nervous. I took a deep breath and said a prayer, to be solid and grounded, to light and love. Then I walked towards the door, one foot in front of the other, left-right, left-right, you can do this Lynda. And then, there they were. There he was. Pinch me, am I dreaming? He is so beautiful! Still the boy I once knew, but not. Tall, slim and big blue eyes I could drown in. When our eyes met it was awkward, but not too weird and we managed to carry-on somehow like it was all normal. Wow. We did it. No drama, just grandma.
Sunday was the big day. My mother’s vision of a family reunion picnic at Willows Beach was becoming a reality. Sandwich assembly line, packing up the car; my brother and his wife at the hospital taking on the task of accompanying Mom in the Medi-Van while we set things up. A clear blue sky, barely a cloud in sight, the sun glistening off the ocean like diamonds. The van drove up and there was mom in her wheelchair, somehow managing to look regal, dressed in the neon pink dress she wore to my niece’s wedding a few summers ago, her red-rimmed sunglasses, coral lipstick, and gold dangling earrings completing the ensemble.
Mom was in heaven her face titled towards the sun, her family gathered all around her. I was over the moon. Pinch me, more dreams manifesting. I filled a plate for Mom and I to share and helped her eat, her one weak arm making the task too difficult, tears in the corner of my eyes. Mom loved every single bite. She was literally glowing. It was all a massive, tangled jumble of a million different, conflicting feelings memories from the past colliding with the present, of heartbreaking trauma, estrangement, healing, reconciliation, pain, joy, grief, loss, and love. My heart ached. My head was spinning, dizzy, not grounded at all. I don’t know what possessed me to play K.D. Land crooning Hallelujah five minutes before the van was scheduled to pick mom up, but I did, and it was the straw that broke my back, shattering all my resolve to be strong.
In that moment, my mom’s reality pierced my heart to bleeding. Tears poured unbidden down my face and I sobbed and sobbed and I was lost in transition until I looked up and saw the tears streaming down Mom’s face too and I felt ashamed of myself, or at the very least disappointed, and yet, how could it be any different? I kissed my mom’s forehead and dashed towards a small grove of trees to compose myself. A few deep breaths and a prayer. Then I dashed back and buried my face in my mom’s neck and held her hand and stroked her cheek and witnessed her in all her fragile vulnerability and held space for my own loss, of the woman she once was, of her loss of independence and mobility and gifts with words and articulate, insightful, philosophical discussion. It was tender, yet even as the van drove away I stood there, lost in transition.
COMING UP…
Books & Projects:
· In December 2025 I signed a contract with Austin Macauley Publishers for my manuscript, The Trials of Alex Anderson, a character-driven novel that explores the relationship between mental illness and trauma. I am now on the road to publication, with an expected release date near the end of 2026. In February I worked with designers on the cover and its near completion. Last week I received the proofread manuscript for my review. Things are happening! I’ll be posting regular updates here on my blog and on social media, so stay tuned for exciting new developments.
· The Rogue Scorpion is available online at Amazon, Chapters-Indigo, and Barnes & Noble. You can also find it at select Chapters-Indigo and El Hombre de la Mancha bookstores.
Reviews & Interviews:
· You can read, listen, or watch a large selection of reviews and interviews on my website.
Events:
· There are no events currently scheduled in my calendar.
YouTube Channel:
· Watch The Rogue Scorpion trailer.