I often think of my Mom this time of year. Specifically, she comes to mind in connection
with Easter, because of the year she was in the hospital at Easter time. She had had a heart attack with symptoms
beginning on Palm Sunday, and so, as Easter approached she was in a Progressive
Care Unit. Most of my family is
musically inclined, so on the evening before Easter we gathered in her room to “Easter
Carol.” It was like Christmas caroling,
but with Easter hymns. After we had sung
several songs to her with various family members harmonizing and sounding very
like a choir, a nurse came in and asked us if we would consider singing for
another patient on the unit who would appreciate a concert….so we did. This is one of the more pleasant memories I
have of times my Mom was hospitalized.
This morning I was also thinking of some of the other times.
When I was twenty and came home from college for Christmas
vacation, my mother was in the hospital having had a pulmonary embolism. She survived, but she was very ill. This was the first occasion when my mother’s
needs and concerns took precedence over mine in our conversations. Growing up, I had gotten used to my Mom asking
questions and being interesting in my life.
This time, she didn’t ask much about my life and concerns and talked in
detail about what had happened to her.
It wasn’t inappropriate for her to do so, but it was a wake-up call to
me. My mother was going to age, and
someday I might end up as her care-taker.
Decades later, this became a reality. In her seventies, she fell and broke her arm
in four places. She was terribly
uncomfortable in the ER. No position
seemed to give her any ease. Finally, I
stood next to the ER stretcher and said, “Mom, lean against me.” I supported her against my chest and shoulder.
She said, “You don’t want to have to stand here for hours
holding me.”
I replied with a sassy smile, “Don’t tell me what I want to do!”
I thought to myself about all the nights she had probably held
me as a child when I was sick. I thought
of how I had held my own children all night long, if they were ill, and it was
the only way they could sleep. I
imagined she had done the same for me.
If I had to stand there supporting her for hours, I was going to do
it. Payback….I thought.
A few years later, she had a massive stroke and could do
nothing for herself. We moved her into
our home for the last five months of her life.
This necessitated round the clock care.
We did eventually hire someone to come in at night, but near the end,
one person could not turn her by themselves, so a family member was always sleeping
nearby ready to be awakened when needed.
She could not be left alone, so even running out to get groceries had to
be planned ahead. She had to be fed soft
foods. I even bought some baby foods to
give her in addition to yogurt and meals I put in the blender. I had to do everything for her….as she had
once done for me.
No parent wants his or her child to experience this role
reversal. We all wish to be independent. Most of us would wish not to be any “trouble”
to anyone else. I knew that my Mom felt
that way. Her ability to communicate was
greatly compromised in those last few months, but she tried to express her
concern for me and our family. She
repeatedly begged my Dad to take her home…. “We can manage,” she would tell
him, but he knew they couldn’t.
For my Mom’s sake, I would wish those last five months had not
happened. Sometimes people say that
offering such care is a “privilege.” I
hesitate to use that word, because I wish my Mom had been spared that
time. However, from my perspective,
there is no resentment or regret.
I owed her every minute of that care…..every backrub, every spoon
of tomato soup, every linen change, every minute of lost sleep, the “tennis
elbow” I got from lifting her, the restrictions on my comings and goings….I
owed her every bit of it.
Perhaps these thoughts are more appropriate for Mother’s Day,
but they are happening today.
