Now you’re just somebody that I used to know
There's a sense of loss in all of this — not from the move to the retirement home to long term care; but from the sudden absence of purpose. That was my mom's quiet yet constant lament. She still wanted to be useful. But she could no longer drive (thank goodness), and she couldn't remember where the remote was, or what to do with it once she found it.
When you're new to a parent with dementia, it's hard to watch a mind once so capable begin to dim — like a lantern slowly running out of fuel. Each plateau burns a little less bright than the one before.
The most important thing I've learned is that my mom's reality is real to her. It isn't my version, but that doesn't make it any less true. I stopped needing to be right. I only needed to be there.
Most days, she still knows me. But the lantern that once burned so brightly is running low on oil now. I'll miss her when she's gone, but her going will be a mercy.
(I’m still looking for the underwear on the lamp photo….stay tuned
Why is there a fishing net in your car?
Behind my back seat, next to the bag of lock boxes and the wrenches, there's a plastic tote with eight air holes punched in the lid. The net is wedged in behind it. There are gloves that go up to my elbow — I bought them because they were advertised as bite proof.
They are not bite proof.
In the seat pocket there's a neon yellow vest with WILDLIFE RESCUE across the back. I won't pretend I don't feel something when I pull it on. A kind of deputized feeling. Like the day just handed me a better job than the one I dressed for (which is probably still a pair of jeans.)
I studied Wildlife Biology at Guelph University. Then I went straight into sales, because in the 80s there was no work for biologists and rent doesn't care what your degree says. I think about that more than I let on. But regret is like wishing you hadn't eaten that whole bag of chips last night. The chips are gone. You are the kind of person who ate them.
So the net comes with me. Between showings, between meetings, between whatever else the day claims it needs - I receive a text. A goose with fishing line through its wing. A raccoon in a place no raccoon should be. Something at the shoulder of the road that turns its head when I slow down, which is how you know it's still worth stopping for. I get them contained, and I drive them to Sandy Pines Wildlife Centre, where people who actually know what they're doing check them over, patch them up, and put them back outside.
That's the happy ending version.
It isn't always the version I get. Sometimes the drive is quiet in a way I don't have a good sentence for.
I've never kept a count. I should be filling out the mileage sheet and I don't. There's no ledger anywhere with my name on it. Just a tote that needs hosing out again, a net that smells like pond, and the ones that made it — who have no idea a nature loving girl in a neon vest was ever involved.
Coyote with mange. See next photo for the happy ending. We named her Echo.
Echo on release day. 
The evil side of fishing line. 
Leg hold trap taken off a raccoon in the city.
Injured leg - probably a turtle bite on a teenage CAGO (Canada Goose)
Find me at silvermitten on Facebook and Instagram. And no I’m not great at updating my pages.
A beginner silversmithing class is about to start at the Kingston Lapidary and Mineral Club. Students walk in with a bunch of doubt. 5 weeks later they walk out with at least 2 rings, a pendant, and often earrings they have made. I love the sense of accomplishment they feel. More to come here soon…..
