A Gentle Touch

Back in grade school, when they made us go to the old folks home for a service project, I felt sorry for those old people who stared out through wizened eyes, trapped inside bodies that were tired of housing them. I pitied them their inability to walk, to wet their own lips, to carry on coherent conversation. I remember holding hands softened and spotted by age, and I was both drawn in and repulsed by an obvious hunger for human touch.

I never imagined that one day I'd be holding my mom's hand, stroking her soft and spotted skin and listening to her rattle off  words strung together in sentences and paragraphs that make sense only to her. I never realized that time marches relentlessly on, turning the child to parent to grandparent to fragile shell.

Now I know.

As I grew up and came to understand what care of what an aging parent might entail, I started dreading it. These past weeks though, as I 've watched Mom slip away day by day, I've been overwhelmed with the kind of love that wells up in me, a love that I as a selfish kid could never have imagined. The things I always thought would be too hard to handle, the baser aspects of care, are not as difficult as I expected...not because they are easy or pleasant, but because she is my mom and I love her.

I appreciate that there are facilities that will care for the elderly members of our community, but I am so happy that Mom is not in one of them. Instead being cared for by strangers, she is constantly monitored by Dad (married 48 years this week!) and surrounded by both my brothers and I. Our spouses have all stepped up and given us permission to grant the gift of time to our parents. Mom is still able to express her needs on a basic level and has even rallied to offer smiles and encouragement to those who have visited, but she is settling into a quieter time and spends most of her day either sleeping or trying to communicate with each of us. She knows who we are, which is a great comfort most of the time and somewhat hilarious at others (as when she sighs and shakes her head and says, "Oh, Patty." I don't know what I've done, but it's clear she's disappointed in me. I suspect it is because Dad has conscripted me to his side in the ongoing battle over medications.)

In these final weeks or perhaps days of her life, I hope she can feel my love. It's the least I can give her after all she's done for me.