Mango

Back when I was young, we had a couple of mango trees in our yard. They didn’t fruit all that often, but when the combination of weather and fertiliser was right, they would be covered with mango blooms. If our luck continued to hold out and we remembered to cover the young fruit with newspaper, the trees would be laden with luscious mangoes, to be shared among friends and family. Of course, the birds and worms would get the ones we missed, and there were also the passing strangers who helped themselves from across the fence.

Nowadays at the supermarket, I have to shell out good money for mangoes, imported from Australia, Pakistan, Thailand. We almost always have some at home. Mom loves them.

So when one night Mom took off for bed too soon after dinner – we could persuade her to get up and come out again for mango and her medicine! It was really lovely seeing her enjoying her mango.

I think we are beginning to accept the new “normal” Mom’s condition. The words are so few that she often supplements them with sign language and pointing. She walks deliberately and cautiously, and takes off for bed without so much as a “goodnight”. Yet, it is wonderful that she keeps to a normal sleep wake cycle. I say this because the memory of one of my babies topsy turvy sleep times haunts me to this day.