The memory of my childhood colds, sore throats, measles and upset tummies are always accompanied by the warmth of a constant presence throughout and that presence is my mother. I wasn't singled out for this warmth as the youngest of five...but I was the last recipient of that gift which was never appreciated in its time. I was, however, reminded of it early in the summer of 2016.
By that time, I was caregiver to my then 93 year-old mother. My father had passed away in 2013. I was living in Texas then and the thought of mom continuing on in the large home she shared with my father for close to sixty years was becoming less of a thought and more of a worry. Later that year, I moved to Virginia with hopes that mom would decide to sell the house and move in with me as her primary caregiver. She made the decision entirely on her own and, by April of 2014, we had settled into a nice little place just blocks from my sister Amy's house in Richmond. Mom was slower by then. At 91, her arthritis, hearing and vision were giving her still very sharp mind a run for its money. Still, it was an honor to care for her as I had been living in Texas for close to thirty years and our visits within the intervening years were never long enough. I was the only child who wasn't married. Nor was I saddled with children. We began a very lovely relationship as one adult to another but I often still felt like her baby. It was the singular honor of my lifetime to fulfill the role of caregiver to my aging mother. I wouldn't trade the years that followed for all the riches of the world.
But things changed drastically in 2016. By that time, I had finally married and mom now had two caregivers who lived with her as my husband became part of the family. We had been married less than an entire year when I began to have a recurrence of the diverticulitis that had started bothering me while still living in Texas. The pain became so significant that we had to visit the ER during an excruciating flare-up which left me doubled over in pain. The bad news revealed on Xray was critical: a perforated colon. Surgery would be required. And soon. The surgery was performed on March 31 and I was told that I would be in the surgical recovery unit for a week or so with the remaining recuperation time at home. As I was healing from what was at the time laparoscopic sigmoid colon resection, on April 7 I became acutely ill and was going into septic shock. I was eventually rushed into emergency surgery where I underwent radical resection and abdominal washout. I was then transferred to the Intensive Care Unit where I recovered initially but required two additional surgeries as there was fluid collection and a colon fistula.
The following weeks turned into months of surgical recovery in the hospital and I was eventually discharged on June 10. The prolonged recovery would continue at home--but now the caregiver roles were reversed. With my husband at work during the day, mom became my caregiver and I suddenly became that shy, tempestuous child who took great comfort in her closeness--because I knew that she would protect and care for me. By this time, mom had just turned 93 and I honestly believe I healed because of her presence. As the new school year began, I was able to return to my teaching position and the worst days of my physical ordeal were largely behind me.
Unfortunately, for mom, things were getting physically worse. As her health declined, I found myself helpless to make things better for her. Despite telling myself repeatedly that we'd had two wonderful years together, there was nothing I could do to take us back to that first year or remove the hardships that began with my surgery. Mom hated Facebook but, with the exception of my journals, social media is the only place I can return for a photographic journey through the best of our three and a half years together during the twilight of her life. I expected her to live to 100.
Our last Mother's Day together was in 2017. Eduardo and I prepared a lovely breakfast for her and she enjoyed our company as she opened her presents and gifts. She was always grateful for all of her blessings. I wish I could say the same for myself. She passed away in January of 2018. By then, she was in hospice care with my sister and her husband in Maryland. I made it in time to say my farewell but all I could think about was the fact that I would never again experience the profound care of a mother who loves with every single ounce of her being. I make peace with myself on these "motherless" Mother's Days by looking at the images of our short twilight journey and telling myself that many others aren't as blessed. It helps...but what I really want to do is give her a hug and tell her I love her.
Happy Mother's Day, mom.
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