Mothering

Last Sunday was Mother's Day and the family was together again, minus a few grandchildren (Karalyn, Ben, Crystal, Jon). Mom tried to get to get up, but it was too challenging and she spent the day in reclined comfort while the rest of us roamed in and out of her room. She received lovely plants: a Sun Star from Bill and Pattie, a cactus garden from Tina and Mike, a Freesia from Pat, an African Violet from Aunt Dorothy, and a Gerbera Daisy arrangement from Tami and Dan. Her room is surrounded with life.

We had a nice buffet-style lunch of ham, pasta salad, deviled eggs, meatballs, and potato salad. Mom ate and drank little, but she had a some ham later in the day.

Hospice began services on Tuesday. They introduced themselves and discussed medications and respite services. It sounds like respite has to be pre-arranged way in advance and on a regular schedule because they use volunteers. This may not help Suzy much; we'll have to wait and see how it plays out. In the mean time, I'm looking at my calendar and planning for more days with Mom.

Mom is speaking more slowly and more shallowly, continuing to try to finish sentences. Sometimes she does. Last night I read to her from the devotional Bill and Pattie gave her for her birthday. The passage was from Peter 1:6-7. The author suggested that we receive trials and suffering as honored guests in our lives. I told Mom I thought that was an interesting way to look at it. She replied, "Yes, it certainly is. What I don't understand is...why am I like this?" It took five minutes for her to get the sentence out, but she did. When I asked her what she meant, she didn't remember. So we shared I love yous and hugged.

Wednesday was my birthday, and Mom sang to me over the phone. It went like this:
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday dear...
(to Suzy) ..who am I talking to again?
We all laughed. We're losing some things, but not our collective sense of humor.

Mom has become more tactile as her words have waned. She frequently examines the hem of her sheet, the fabric of her gown, touches my hair and caresses my arm as I feed her. When Suzy kissed her good night last night, Mom gave her five or six tender kisses on the cheek. She likes to hold hands. Even though she can't draw her thoughts together easily, she has no trouble saying, "I love you, Suzy." Her brain may fail her, but her soul still mothers us like she always has.