“I am so nervous I don't even know
what I'm doing... what am I supposed to pack? I'm coming back home,
you know. I have to come back. I have a hair appointment next week
and I have to come back.”
I chose my words carefully, struggling
to reassure her without lying or upsetting her even more.
“After you get to feeling better,
we will bring you back to see your friends. This will always be your
home.”
This will always be your home.
Those were the words that seemed to
calm her.
We were halfway through packing when
Dickie arrived. He walked through the door while I was taking some
of his mother's favorite pictures off the wall. His eyes lingered on
a photo of his family dressed in matching vests... the Leader of the
Band with his living legacies.
We briefly made eye contact, then he
went to find her.
“Mom, I need you to sign this
paper for the post office so they can forward your mail to us while
you're away.”
“I'm not going to be gone very
long, you know.” She informed her son. “I need to come back
home. I can't miss my hair appointment. Pam is giving me a perm.”
“We've already talked about this,
Mom. Everything will be okay, I promise. Just please, sign the
paper for me.”
It took four tries and a great deal of
patience for Dora to correctly sign her name. She couldn't see the
signature line. She readjusted her glasses. Her hand was shaking.
Dickie gently took her hand in his and set the pen down on the paper.
With his guidance, she began to scrawl her signature right on the line. But the moment he took his hand away, she lost direction and ended up writing sideways on the form.
Which was pretty much a metaphor for
what we had been dealing with the past year. My mother-in-law's
ability to manage her life was slowly losing direction, requiring the
assistance of more and more helping hands to function correctly. It was taking a village. Literally.
If Dora had not lived in a small town
where people still looked out for each other, this day would have undoubtedly come sooner. She had been enabled to stay in her home largely due to the care and attention she received from neighbors, life-long friends, church family and the wonderful Aunt Mattie and Crickett.
But there could be no denying... at 88 years of age, Dickie & Jackie's Mama could no longer be left at home alone. Her memory and decision-making skills
were declining as rapidly as her eyesight. She had become a constant
source of concern for her family.
* *
As we continued to pack, I wondered
what was going through Dickie's mind. I couldn't stand to think
about how close his heart must be to breaking. Outwardly (and as far
as his mother knew) he seemed to be okay. But then, he and his
brother had spent a lifetime convincing their Mama they were okay,
so as never to cause her any worry.
Though left with few choices, I
knew he was overwhelmed with guilt at the thought of moving her
out of her home. His home. His brother's home. This was the home of their childhood memories... the basement where their Mom had
spent hours on the stairs listening to their music. That old table in
the kitchen where they had scarfed down a bazillion pounds of Dora
Burgers. And upstairs, where a 10-year old Dickie had watched his Dad shave --- for
the very last time.
But the heart of this home had always
been their Mom. And this was the home of her heart.
* *
She cried most the way to Amarillo. He
tried his best to comfort her with words of encouragement about
living closer to us, spending more time with family, looking forward to a better quality
of life. He even managed to make her laugh a few times, though her
laughter was almost as hard to take as the tears. It hurt to catch
those fading glimpses of his Mom being her old self, they made him
miss her even more.
Crazy how you can miss someone who is sitting
right beside you in sturdy black shoes, living and breathing... someone
in older skin who resembles your Mom.
Pure irony that we discover in adulthood there will always be a part of us that never stops
being their child. That never stops craving the comforting touch of our mother's hand across our fevered brow. That never outgrows the need for
their unconditional love.
So while we understand intellectually
that roles have reversed, there will never be a way to emotionally
accept the role reversal between us and our parents. Our imperfect efforts to parent our parents often lead to sleepless nights and anxious days. Though we love
them and try to give them our best, it is impossible to escape the feeling that our best is not good enough for the ones who gave us life.
* *
We unpacked her boxes, hung her clothes in the closet, scattered
memories around the room in pretty frames and settled Dora into her
new home. We had chosen a private elder care home ran by a retired
nurse who could provide the constant supervision and care that was
needed.
Planting an overly bright smile on my face, I hugged
my mother-in-law goodbye with promises of talking to her in the
morning. Dickie quickly kissed her wrinkled cheek, then headed
straight for the door.
* *
I caught up with him outside, turned
him around and wrapped him in my arms. Through our mingled tears I
whispered...
“You did good. You are a good son. I want you to know, it's important that you know...
“You are ENOUGH."
