Ichi-go, Ichi-e. A Life Lesson from Mom.

I resolved this year not to make any New Year’s resolutions, and true to form and true to my history, my resolution fell apart very quickly. It toppled to a heap on New Year’s Day.

I visited my Mom over the New Year’s weekend. She has advanced dementia and requires round-the-clock care. My dad and I walked into the memory care facility where she lives and Michelle, her caregiver, greeted me with “Do you want a job this afternoon?”  “Uh, sure. What do you need me to do?” I tentatively asked. “Why don’t you feed your mom lunch?” was her demand (it wasn’t a request). 

Mom sat there in her wheelchair. Donning a bib. Blank stare, straight ahead. I gently turned her head toward me. She stared right through me. No look of recognition. No apparent emotion. Just a blank, distant stare. I then proceeded with the slow process of feeding her lunch–a sip of a protein drink, followed by a spoon of pureed soup, then a bit of canned fruit, a drink of water and then back to the protein drink. It was a slow, plodding process. The minutes dragged on. I’m ashamed to admit my mind wandered and I secretly wished my mother would step up the pace a bit. I thought of everything but the beautiful lady sitting right in front of me.

By some miracle, I managed to refocus and reorient myself to the task and person at hand. I studied her intently—The dry crusted food at the corner of her mouth. Hazel eyes. Soft wisps of gray hair across her forehead. Wrinkles and crevasses born of 84 years of living and loving. She was beautiful and I had nearly missed it.  

I lifted a spoonful of pureed soup to her lips and a bit dribbled down her chin. In a reflexive move reminiscent of times when I fed my own children, I scooped up the dribble with the edge of the spoon and brought it back to her mouth.

“Mom!” I called out to her. I gently turned her face toward mine. 

 “Do you remember when you fed me like this?”  

Her gaze slowly went from distant to a vague sense of recognition. She looked into my eyes and there was the hint of an upturned corner of her mouth. The eyes soon responded with a brightness only born of a genuine, heartfelt smile. We connected, mother to son, but for just a moment.

“I love you Mom.”  

“I love you too.” she responded.

I treasure that brief moment; a moment I nearly missed.

On the 3 ½-hour drive home on New Year’s Day, I had ample time to reflect on my visit with Mom. It occurred to me, the most precious moments with her are likely to be fleeting, buried amongst the mundane and those moments need to be recognized, treasured, and celebrated. It also occurred to me, most of life and life’s relationships are like that—special moments and treasures buried in the mundane, repetitive toil of the “every day.” How many of these sacred moments do I miss by not fully engaging?

There’s a Japanese idiom, ichi-go ichi-e, which literally translates “one time, one encounter.”  It can also be translated “once in a lifetime” or “never again.”  The big idea of this idiom is that every interaction in life, no matter how fleeting, routine, repetitive or mundane is, in its own special way, unique, never to be repeated and because of that, it needs to be treasured.

So, my sole New Year’s resolution is a big one.  

Ichi-go, ichi-e as a life discipline, treasuring each moment with friends, family, colleagues, patients, and especially God, fully focused on and treasuring that which is immediately present in front of me.

Thanks Mom for the life lesson.