Like any significant moment in life where you have the luxury of advance notice of what it is about to happen, you enter the experience thinking you are prepared. The left brain likes to try to keep life fitting perfectly in a lovely little box and may even trick you into believing it is succeeding. But by the end of the experience, you realize there were many things you did not account for, like emotions, which are not so tidy.
When I met my mother in the elevator once she was released from the recovery room, I didn't anticipate the flood of emotion I experienced when I saw her strapped onto the hospital gurney with tubes sticking out of her. I knew she was okay, but there was something about seeing her so vulnerable that suddenly made me feel vulnerable as well and I stayed that way until my time taking care of her was over.
My mom has had a difficult life. I could go into how much it had to do with choice versus circumstance, but it doesn't matter. All I know is the woman I call my mother is a driving force in my life. She poured her heart and soul into me and gave me the wings she didn't have. But it had been a while since I had stepped into her world for more than 48 hours. As happy as I was with how far we had come, we apparently had more headway to make.
I cleaned and cleaned my mom's tiny basement apartment and was saddened that my mother didn't take better care of her living space, but I cleaned anyways... with love. It wasn't long before my expectations of cleanliness turned into a realization that I was cleaning up somebody else's dirt and it wasn't my mom's. No, the dirt I was cleaning up belonged to the people in my mother's past who demeaned and abused her instead of giving her the love that she and every human being deserves.No, you're not unlovable, Mom. I love you and those days are over, but I know the battle still rages on in your head.
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| My Mom:) |
I served her breakfast, lunch and dinner every day and felt good knowing that she was eating fresh, healthy food. We played a constant game of cat and mouse every time she would try to sneak a cigarette against her doctor's orders. I sought her approval as I went through her apartment and purged items that were either not being used or too dusty and stained with cigarette smoke to keep. We laughed at the giant cookbook by Good Housekeeping that I used to love looking at over and over as a child. When I was little, I used to pretend I was royalty and order the dishes for my feast by pointing to the pictures of delicious gourmet fare. When I made her laugh, our connection felt timeless and boundless and every night ended with a hug and a kiss goodnight.
Then it came time for me to leave and unlike my usual shorter visits, it was harder to say goodbye this time. The two hour drive home provided me with the space to process my visit and led me to the realization that the time spent with my mom wasn't just about her healing; it was also about our healing.
