As I write this, I’m departing the small town in Iowa where my mother lives to head home to Kansas City. After my father’s death last year, she sold or gave away nearly every possession she owned and abandoned our family home and the life she had built in Indianapolis, returning to the tiny Iowa town she’d grown up in all those years ago. The last 15 months have brought her way a hurt the likes of which, I hope never to know. Cancer – bladder, lung, then liver – took her husband, and after uprooting an entire lifetime and relocating to her hometown to be by family, the sister she’d so looked forward to having a “second chapter” with died suddenly after a violent fall. Mom’s decline began with Dad’s passing, intensified with the loss of my aunt, and has steadily and rapidly increased in the months that have followed. Heartbreak and loss have manifested in a litany of health issues, and last weekend’s fall in her home in the middle of the night could have ended her life. She’s safe now, cared for and surrounded by light in a wonderful assisted living facility in her tiny Iowa hometown. The people are amazing and kind. She’s loved by staff and fellow residents alike, and I had a wonderful time with them today as I saw a glimpse of Mom’s new world. Female staff and residents included me in their “spa afternoon,” complete with loud laughter and gorgeous manicures. The “girls” (my name for them) enjoyed homemade ice cream and smiled as I sang to them, each enjoying their newly manicured and freshly polished nails in every shade of pink and red under the sun (baby pink for me – how sweet that they included me!). After a singalong with a local musician who’d come to visit and a handful of plans for future visits and goodbyes, back on the road I went.
This visit was so critical for so many reasons. The obvious, of course, being to ensure Mom’s safety and comfort in her new-ish surroundings (this is her second trip to this facility…long story). Logistics, furniture, and creature comforts aside, my heart needed this trip in more ways than I had imagined. I. The interests of discretion and respect, I’ll say simply that tempers have flared and unkind words have been uttered amongst family in these last several weeks as Mom’s mental and physical health have continued to decline so rapidly. It forged a rift between her and I, and steps were taken in this time together to repair that wound.
While I was aware of the severity of the injuries she’d sustained in her fall, I had no idea just how frail and just how fragile she had become. Shortly before my father died, I knew he was going to leave us. I felt it in my bones. It was a breathtaking and heartbreakingcertainty, and I am feeling it once again with Mom. I know the time is both short and rapidly fleeting, and it’s breaking my heart wide open. I am wholly unprepared for the loss of my remaining parent, and I know that the grief I will feel when that time comes will only be compounded by my guilt for the anger and the sadness that I’ve carried these last many weeks.
Please do not replicate my mistake. Life is precious. Short. Unpromised and absent guarantee. If you have the ability to mend rifts and heal hurts, do so.
I work for a public health agency, where platitudes like “never begrudge aging as it is a privilege denied to many” abound. In the context of a life lost or a significant injury or illness, I suppose I would agree. However, no words can justly illustrate the cruel incivility experienced by those walking this final journey…or the heartbreak felt by those walking beside them. If you are in this season of life with a loved one, please know you are seen. I send to you all the light and the strength.
Love and lift those in your life, fearlessly and endlessly.