Mother and I

My heart is tender this morning. I’m not sure exactly why but I feel open and raw. I have images of Mom that keep popping into my mind since my visit when I spent a few hours with her yesterday. I left there once more questioning why? Why does life have to become what it is for the majority of people who find themselves in care facilities like nursing homes? It’s heart breaking and in many ways seems so unjust, so unfair.

Mom had been sick to her stomach just before I got there. The care aids had changed her clothes and when I arrived she was sitting at the table oblivious to the glass of ginger ale they had placed in front of her, slumped over in her chair, eyes closed, cold hands clenched into fists and unresponsive to my voice asking her how she was and asking her to open her eyes.

I got her a straw for the drink she couldn’t hold, wheeled her over to her room where there was no TV noise and put a blanket over her to try to warm her. I got her to drink little sips here and there while I continued to try to get responses from her and held her hands in mine to warm them up. A few times she muttered a word or two which I couldn’t really make out and then she would be quiet again, eyes closed seemingly unaware of my presence except for her firm grasp on my hands in hers. I sat in a chair next to her wheelchair and gazed into her face for the longest time, my thoughts drifting.

She looked so tired and so helpless. Just like in the children’s book, “Love You Forever”, I wanted to pick her up in my arms sit in a rocker, rock her gently and make all her pain and troubles go away. Just rock her until she could let go of whatever it is she is hanging on to. Hold her and rock her until her body warmed up enough to even warm her heart. Hold and rock her child self like her mother in a coma for seven years never could. Hold her and rock her until her spine straightened and her hands opened and her face relaxed. Hold her and rock her until the tears that continue to leak from her eyes blended into mine.


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