I really didn't want to go visit my mother today. With my new job as Bereavement Coordinator for Heartland Hospice, every moment of my weekends is precious time to catch up on my life. And lately my visits to my mother have been even less fun than usual. She's more withdrawn, less communicative, more easily provoked. But I went, because it's the right thing to do. That's it, that's why I went. I didn't go resentfully, because I gave myself the choice to not go. I chose to go.
I was surprised to find her in bed at 2:30 in the afternoon. Apparently there's a new policy that if residents fall asleep in their chairs after lunch, they are transferred to bed so they can have a better nap. She wasn't asleep so I just went to the side of the bed she was facing and squatted down. She gave me a sweet smile when she saw me. I said hello, it's so good to see you, and then right away I told her I've been thinking about how much she did for us, what a good mother she was, how well she took care of us and loved us. She was pleased and nodded and said, "that's good." I asked her if she was comfortable, and she said she was. I stroked her forehead and her hair, and her shoulder and back. She had a very soft blanket on so it felt good to me to rub it. I checked with her, did she like this little back rub? "Yes, but not too long." Thirty seconds later, "Should I stop now?" "Yes. You did it right." "Did I do good?" I asked, laughing. "Yes," she replied.
She was so serene, and beautiful, her blue eyes and her silver hair and her smooth skin and red lips. I held her hand. She commented, "Holding your hand. Delicious." Then she asked me what I ate, and I told her vegetable soup. "That's good." It was like a dream unfolding, in which we were in sync, just in a place of love, with none of the exasperation of life, at the moment.
When life is stripped down, like it is at the end, sometimes there's nothing but love left. Like it was with my father. And in this moment, in this grace-filled visit, with my mother. You just never know.
