Who would have known that days following my declaration of a new chapter in my life, purposeful living would involve my mother. These few weeks since my last blog post have been very enlightening to say the least. You see, my mom has been a caregiver to her husband for the last eight-something years. Like most folks who aren't a part of the day-to-day struggle, I grossly underestimated the toll this was taking on my mom. A weekend visit, coming home for the holidays or taking a day off work for this or that was the jist of my involvement--with an occasional call to see how she was doing or to tell her she needed to take care of herself.
I'm not proud to admit that those were just necessary platitudes, but I really didn't want to involve myself any more than that. I justified it by lamenting that there was nothing I could do. Truthfully, if I were to be really really honest, I felt put-upon by my mom's decision to marry this man. He wasn't my father so I owed him nothing. And as long as she chose to stay with him, there was little that anyone could do. This was plausible, but Truth looks for what's real. And what's real is I resented him for not being forthcoming with my mom about his condition and I resented her for being so quick to marry him and thereby putting us all (her family) in this impossible position of watching her suffer without being able to do a dang thing about it.
It wasn't until I came home to accompany her to the doctor that I got a rude awakening to just how severe her situation was. She had had eye surgery and just as I was about to pack up and leave from doing my daughterly duty, I asked her if she had anyone to stay with her. She said "no." It was at that moment, that I saw how vulnerable she was. She had masked it pretty well before this, saying she was doing fine during our weekly telephone chit-chats. But this time, there was no "fine" in her eyes. All I could see was a plea. "Suzette, please don't leave me," was the cry of her countenance.
I took off my coat and told her I'd stay. I stayed and allowed my once eyes wide-shut to remain open. Love insisted on compassion instead of judgment. I watched her with fresh eyes. I watched her nonstop caregiving from putting a towel around her husband's neck to make sure that food wouldn't end up all over his clothes when he attempted to feed himself. I saw her attentiveness to his needs both spoken and anticipated only to be constantly called for no reason. I saw her coach him to do even the smallest things as one would a child being potty trained or learning to tie his shoes or dressing himself for the first time. I saw the tired stare in her eye and the unsteadiness of her gait from not getting any sleep because her husband was up and down throughout the night. I saw her fatigue when the health care tech failed to show up and she had to get him dressed unexpectedly before going to her own doctor appointment. I saw her resolve, without regard for her own frailness, to brace him so he wouldn't fall down. I watched as she and her sister went through their normal routine of putting on coats and hats to assist the driver in loading him into the transportation vehicle so he could go to adult day care. Even as we sat in the waiting room at the doctor's, her mind was whirring with if she did this or if she had forgotten to do that. We even stepped out of the waiting room so she could call her sister so she could make sure.
My insides wept. When I got my mom home, I asked her to stop and rest. In fact, I told her I wasn't leaving until I had her safely tucked in. "Ma," I said. "You won't be able to rest if you sleep in your room. It has all that hospital stuff in there. Sleep in the guest bedroom." She agreeably laid on the bed and I pulled the covers up over her. Her trust was so childlike in that moment. I kissed her on the forehead fighting back tears and did one final check of things before leaving to drive back to Raleigh. She had unknowingly left the stove top burner on low. She has a gas stove. This was the moment when reality hit me right between the eyes. Had I not been there and that burner had somehow blown out...oh my God. The thought was terrifying. This can't go on, I whispered to God. Something has to be done. Show me how to help.
