Lately I’ve been spending so much time here at William Beaumont Hospital that I’ve started feeling at home as soon as I pull into the parking lot. This morning, I’m back again with my mother, whose frequent dizzy spells have resulted in some dangerous tumbles on the pavement. And she's been more forgetful lately -- forgetting names and nouns; forgetting things she'd already told me; forgetting that certain relatives died several years ago.
The two of us have spent the past half hour waiting for a CT scan. Despite the worrisome nature of our visit, Mom has kept her sense of humor. “Do you think they’ll find any rocks in my head?” she quips.
A nurse appears in the doorway and calls my mother’s name. I’m told to wait here. Mom reaches for her walker and ever-so-slowly weaves her way around the waiting room chairs. She looks older than her years, yet vulnerable and childlike.
Bored with the old issue of People magazine in my lap, I close my eyes and try to recall how my mother looked when both of us were younger. I conjure an ancient memory of my pediatrician’s office – the exotic fish floating in the aquarium; the mandatory racks of Dick and Jane books. When I was 8, rheumatic fever kept me home from school for several weeks, and required frequent visits to the doctor. My beautiful, dark-haired mom was right there with me, promising that the cheerless nurse bearing a sinister tray of syringes and rubbing alcohol was really there to help.
These days, it’s my turn to reassure Mom, but I have to admit it feels a little strange sometimes.
And it's never easy. A friend who’s exactly my age reminds me that we’re now official members of the Sandwich Generation -- the ones called to spread our energy thinly between growing offspring and aging parents. Just as I did when my son was small, I've learned that my mother needs my patience as well as my love. I have to work at this every single day.
She was there for me My mother and I share a medical history of osteoarthritis and hip replacement surgery, and neither of us has any siblings. Perhaps because of that, our relationship is evolving in ways we’d never imagined. The two of us have grown up together in countless ways. Over the years we’ve shopped for china patterns and wedding announcements, baby toys, school clothes, dining room furniture, kitchen equipment, medical supplies, and funeral directors.
My husband and I were building new careers and keeping house when our son was born 23 years ago. My mother, thank goodness, was always ready and willing to baby-sit her only grandchild. Though she had no experience raising little boys, she cheerfully navigated the complex, mechanical world of trains, cars, and Lego castles.
And it seems she’d barely claimed her hard-won status as “Grandma” when my father died, making her a widow and changing the shape of our small family circle.
Erma Bombeck once said that mothers “are not the faceless stereotypes who appear once a year on a greeting card with their virtues set to prose, but women who have been dealt a hand for life and play each card one at a time, the best way they know how.”
I’m 55 now and Mom turns 79 this month. We’re still fine-tuning our roles as parent and child; nurse and patient; best friends. And I think we’ve become more flexible through all we’ve been dealt, from health crises to chaotic Christmas dinners. Together we’ve learned how resilient, how durable, women can be.
Still, I wish she would stop apologizing for occupying my time in medical waiting rooms. I remind her of the times she’s driven me to hospitals and doctors’ offices throughout my life, and of all the thoughtful things she’s done for our family. I remind her that it’s my turn to be here for her. But it’s no use, really. I’m still her kid -- and she’s not keeping score.
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Cindy La Ferle is a nationally published Oakland County freelance writer. She's author of an award-winning essay collection, Writing Home, which is distributed to bookstores by Wayne State University Press and is available on Amazon.com. Cindy also leads writing workshops and events in the metro-Detroit area. Visit her Web site http://www.laferle.com for more information.
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2 comments:
It's a difficult dance with parents as they age. It sounds like you and your mother are going a graceful job of it. Excellent article. Thank you.
This was as I'd imagined it would be. You being a gracious and beautiful soul.
How very lucky the both of you are.
While I don't imagine this will be my own experience, I hope with every fibre of mothering that it will be like this for my children and I.
and on a random note.. I just realized a coincidence. My eldest daughter is currently attending Oakland University . She is on a soccer scholarship .
We are originally from the Windsor area , and actually have a good friend who works at the hospital you referred to. Small world and all that!
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