Last July, when I went to see her, I sat by her bedside. The person I talked to was only partly mom... Mom had been in and out of her body for a year or more, and only partly came back to check in. I held her hand and said "Mom, I don't understand, truly I don't. You've been trapped in this bed for the last 10 years and more. You're either the dumbest person or the bravest person or both I've ever known. I want you to know," I told her, "that if you decided to move on, to check out, to die, Sam and I would be okay. Hell, it's something we've been expecting for the last five or more years. So, it's okay. Move on when you're ready."
She smiled at me, and for a very brief moment, I had the same mom that made the Lincoln shaped cake for the scouts blue and gold ceremony back home nearly 50 years ago. We both shed a tear or two and I hugged her. She never said anything during the visit that I can remember. Maybe she asked how Sam and his wife were doing, I don't know. Seems she did. but she didn't talk much of anything.
I told her how her old homestead, the farm she was raised on was doing. I told her the house was still there, and being used by a farm couple, while the folks who bought it lived way out in the north 40 in a big old rambling two story house.
Aw, sis... I talked to her for three hours straight and more that day, when I only expected to spend an hour. I talked and talked and talked about Jamie and Sam and Gary and talked about my childhood and how she came through for us, even when she wasn't at her best. And she did, you know? Always, always come through for us. She could be dead stinking drunk, but when the chips were down, she was right there, fighting hell and gone to protect us from harm.
Three hours passed like water down the river, and I wished I could have had more. I don't like nursing homes, but that day the nursing home vanished and it was just Mom and me, talking like old times, like when we would take the two mile walk to the bookstore, talking bout anything from music to art to quantum physics (which she didn't understand then, but I bet she does now). She never lost interest in what we boys were doing, even after the divorce devastated her.
I could ramble on and on and on. You want to know how I'm doing... I'm fine, sis. I didn't know it was the last time, truly. It has been the 'last' time so many times. I just know I enjoyed being with her last July. I've got tears, of course, and I'm a bit sad. I 'spect to see her ghost tonight, because she was always a spooky old lady. Very spiritual, and very much open to EVERYthing.
So, I may be a bit sad, but I'm glad, honey. So glad that Mom is out and about again, running and giving Gary hell for his drinking and drug abuse. I'm glad that she's painting and singing off key and listening to the classics and her Frank. I'm so glad that she's free again, and not confined to a bed and a colostomy bag. I will miss her, but always carry her in my head and heart. She was the best mom I could have wanted, because she made me the person I am now, which brings me such friends and loved ones as you.
no subject
She smiled at me, and for a very brief moment, I had the same mom that made the Lincoln shaped cake for the scouts blue and gold ceremony back home nearly 50 years ago. We both shed a tear or two and I hugged her. She never said anything during the visit that I can remember. Maybe she asked how Sam and his wife were doing, I don't know. Seems she did. but she didn't talk much of anything.
I told her how her old homestead, the farm she was raised on was doing. I told her the house was still there, and being used by a farm couple, while the folks who bought it lived way out in the north 40 in a big old rambling two story house.
Aw, sis... I talked to her for three hours straight and more that day, when I only expected to spend an hour. I talked and talked and talked about Jamie and Sam and Gary and talked about my childhood and how she came through for us, even when she wasn't at her best. And she did, you know? Always, always come through for us. She could be dead stinking drunk, but when the chips were down, she was right there, fighting hell and gone to protect us from harm.
Three hours passed like water down the river, and I wished I could have had more. I don't like nursing homes, but that day the nursing home vanished and it was just Mom and me, talking like old times, like when we would take the two mile walk to the bookstore, talking bout anything from music to art to quantum physics (which she didn't understand then, but I bet she does now). She never lost interest in what we boys were doing, even after the divorce devastated her.
I could ramble on and on and on. You want to know how I'm doing... I'm fine, sis. I didn't know it was the last time, truly. It has been the 'last' time so many times. I just know I enjoyed being with her last July. I've got tears, of course, and I'm a bit sad. I 'spect to see her ghost tonight, because she was always a spooky old lady. Very spiritual, and very much open to EVERYthing.
So, I may be a bit sad, but I'm glad, honey. So glad that Mom is out and about again, running and giving Gary hell for his drinking and drug abuse. I'm glad that she's painting and singing off key and listening to the classics and her Frank. I'm so glad that she's free again, and not confined to a bed and a colostomy bag. I will miss her, but always carry her in my head and heart. She was the best mom I could have wanted, because she made me the person I am now, which brings me such friends and loved ones as you.
The child is the reflection of the parent.