At the age of 30 I have already experienced the tragic death of one parent and the serious illness of the other. It's a bit a surreal, like there's no way this could be happening to me, to us. We've already been through so much and it's so early. Both parents hit the crisis marker at age 59. And my brother and I only in our late 20s to early 30s. So young to be dealing with such crisis in our lives. And yet here we are. Here we are struggling through the confusion, the fear, and the practical details the best we can. Calling everyone and their mother to tell them how our mother is fairing. And yet the pictures that run through my head is miraculous. I would have never thought in a million years the small moments amongst the moment of crisis. The other day I was sitting in the hospital wondering what would a slide show look like. If I were to return home what pictures of this adventure would I share with my friends. These are the images that come to mind.
When I arrived last week on the panic flight I took the day following my mothers massive risky surgery to remove a staph infection from her spine. I arrived anxious to see the woman I love dearly, but had been unable to take phone calls since she was not very responsive or aware of the world. I walked into a room sterile and white. I took in the walls, tables, and chairs until my eyes could fall onto the woman whom I recognized but was not there. I saw my mothers body wounded, wrapped in wires from every angle. Her eyes vacant but able to recognize and only mutter a hello. She was clearly there in body but not in mind or spirit. It's a scary moment when you see the woman who gave birth to you barely there. As we stood to leave for why stay. She asked us "who is going to stay". I slowly replied that "we must both go". She replied, quite seriously, "you are going to leave me with these people". I was shocked, to the point I almost broke in the biggest hilarious laughter. In her delerious state she was parniod, not herself and it was so hard to hear, to watch, and keep the containment on my laughter, my stress that was begging to be released. Next my brother and I sat down quietly. He whispered softly "wait for my signal". I did, once we heard her snoring we quietly left. As soon as we were in the hallway we lost it. It had been the most stressful four days and neither of us had the capacity to contain the ridiculousness of her comment or the stress that was bottled up.
When she started to come out of it. She asked when I had arrived, I said two days ago. The look of shock in her eyes was palpable. You could feel it. As my brother and I stood on each side of her bed. She held our hands and simply said "my children". She was still too out of it to express more. But is there more to say. Is there more to express than that. She had all she needed. This moment reminds that sometimes that is the crux and I don't need to explain further. Though I want to, everyday I want to tell her how much I am willing to do for her, how scared I was, and how frightened I still am. How I am struggling for balance... but does my mother need to know this. No she doesn't. She only needs to see my brother and I standing strong by her side. There is nothing more to be done.
A few days after being here. I unpacked my altar items and discovered my father's ashes had come along. I did not pack them. My father choose to be here with us. He showed me once again that indeed he watches over all us. Even if we can't see or feel him, he is there.
She was home for a few days when she began having close falling episodes when she returned from getting her IV antibiotics. It got worse a few days ago. We came home and she got ahead of me I couldn't get her the walker in front of her, she quickly said I need the chair NOW. So I grabbed it but she was going down. You could see it happening in slow motion, as if on autopilot I grabbed the chair and her hips at the same time and pulled her to safety. I got her seated just as I did so she was so lightheaded she almost fell forward straight out of the chair. I grabbed her and said "I've got you, I'm not letting go." The moment itself is hard to describe in words, in fact it's one of those moments in life that is so intimate and scary all the same time. It reminds just how much I love my mother. No matter how much anger I've had over the years in that moment all of it dissolved into helping her. Into doing what is right.
Though this is only a snap shot. It my way of understanding, it is my way of sharing, it is my way of being vulnerable with the world, without having to send this out to anyone in particular. But reaching out a hand. Life is not easy, balance is not easy, but there is a lesson in this family crisis. I get to give something to my mother I never had the chance to give to my father. It is at the end of the day a blessing.
No comments:
Post a Comment