The World of Mister Zen

Seeing my mum off after her visit was so incredibly difficult. Over the past few days I have seen her settle into a way of being that I have never seen her inhabit before. I met a new mother in so many ways. It sounds strange but her condition has softened her edges and allowed her to be present in a way that perhaps she was unable to be in the past. I have seen joy, contentment and love in her eyes, as well as the odd bout of confusion or restlessness, but these were few and far between for the most part and when they paid a visit we were able to settle her quickly without too much drama. A quick call to her husband or a nice cup of tea. I watched as she connected deeply with the force of nature I know as Bonnie, my dearest friend and a very special being. She met my mum at every turn and loved her without a second thought, as if her own. Often she was a trusted companion to my mum where perhaps I couldn't be. Amidst it all my mum's instinct remained to protect my brot

I feel compelled to share the journey of this week in some way. Perhaps in order to speak openly about a condition that is not often discussed publicly or as part of my own catharsis. At this juncture I am not entirely sure. Perhaps both. A year ago my mum was diagnosed with early onset frontotemporal dementia. This is a shrinkage of the brain that causes, among other things, memory loss, confusion, and a loss of empathy. My past year has been coming to terms with much of what this diagnosis has stirred in me. The reality of impermanence, the fragility of life, being present with heartbreak, loss, to name but a few. What's made it doubly tricky is that my mum lives abroad and so our communication has largely been limited to awkward, disjointed phone calls and a handful of skype calls. (my mum is something of a technophobe) This week my mum turns 64 years old and so my brother and I decided to fly her over to see many of her friends and family that, to be honest, she may not