It was the end of a very long day.
I just wanted to go home after work, fall into bed and shut out the world for a little while. But it was Mom’s big night. And, after 11 months of life-changing events for her, my family and me, we needed a big night.
John Lennon once said, “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.” I wonder if John said this at the end of a very long day.
You see, 11 months ago, caring for a critically ill parent wasn’t part of my plan. Nor was losing an independent lifestyle on my mom’s agenda either.
But, there we were, smack in the middle of a plight familiar to many – parent as child, child as parent. Both struggling with new, unsolicited identities. Last winter, Mom was rushed to the emergency room with a life-threatening illness. Over the next five months, she was hospitalized four times and sent to three rehabilitative centers. Twice, we almost lost her.
A widow for several years since Dad died, Mom could no longer live on her own. My sisters and I knew this although it was an emotionally hard pill to swallow. So, in the midst of the hospital-rehab-hospital shuffle, we sold her home.
During the day, in between work and family commitments, we went through Mom’s things at the house, packing up sentimental items while deciding what to do with the rest.
One sister took a shift to be with Mom. Another called the doctor to understand, once more, in normal human non-doctor language, Mom’s latest prognosis. Another sister packed. Another sorted through mounds of legal paperwork. (I made a mental note that, when I get older, I am two shy of enough children to handle caring for me.)
And on a hot summer day after the emotionally coldest winter of our lives, we moved Mom – frail and confused – into an assisted-living facility.
I felt like the woman who ran a 26-mile marathon after mistakenly thinking she had signed up for a 5K race. She stumbled through the finish line, hours after the other runners. When asked why she stayed the course, she said, “This wasn’t the race I planned on. It wasn’t the race I trained for. But it was the race I was in.”
Now it’s winter again.
Last week, the staff at Mom’s home hosted a holiday ball. It was the end of a very long day.
Mom called twice asking which holiday sweater I’m wearing. I wore her favorite one. When my husband, Mike, the kids and I arrived, mom was waiting in the lobby with her friends. She looked beautiful. Healthy. Alive.
Music filtered through the dining hall. We started to dance, laughing at our bad moves against the funky rhythm of “Devil in a Blue Dress.” My son was pulled onto the dance floor by a sweet female resident. Mom giggled as her hall mate twirled her around.
For a little while, we shut out the world, forgot our worries and danced beneath a well-lit Christmas tree, bright with hope.