Happy Birthday, Mom

Next week my mom will turn 95. I will not be there. For a purely selfish reason that I am ashamed to admit: I can't handle the fact that she no longer knows who I am. I've watched her decline for the last several years. But no matter how impaired she had gotten, she still knew me.

For the last 10 years or so I had been visiting every year. As the years went on, every time I got back on the plane, I wondered it it had been our last visit. For the last 3 years, I've been going twice a year, to give my caregiver brother a few days respite. The decline was striking each time. But even the home health nurses would comment about how happy she seemed that I was there. When I was there, she never had the episodes of agitation that my brother had to help her through.

It was my pride that made me believe that our relationship was so strong that even Alzheimer's couldn't destroy it. I was so certain that I was the special daughter who would cause her to break through her dementia and remember me until the very end.

The last time I saw her my illusions shattered and my heart broke. I am now the keeper of memories, not only of mine, but of hers, and of ours together. And there is no one to share them with.

My brother has hired an excellent aid who comes as needed. He no longer is so chained to the house that he needs the few days off twice a year that I was able to give him. My coming now would be simply to visit my mom. And I can't do it. Maybe that makes me a bad daughter. Maybe that makes me a selfish person. All I know is, I'm not strong enough.

I love my mom. I hate that everything that made her who she is is lost to her. I miss her so much. I miss her laugh, I miss her voice, I miss her telling me she loves me. I hate that her home is full of her memento's that she gathered during her travels, but she doesn't remember that she used to travel. I hate that her walls are full of photos of people who love her, but she can't remember the love.

I will mourn her death. I will be sad when she dies. But I know she will be in heaven with all her memories and abilities. But I don't know if I will miss her any more than I already do.

I hate Alzheimer's.

For These Things We Pray...

Tomorrow morning, my husband will present himself at the hospital for an MRI of his brain. He has had recurrent, persistent symptoms for the last six months, as well as recent new ones. We have to get to the bottom of what this is, no matter how scary the answer will be. My husband is extremely worried. I think at this point I'm beyond worried, I just want to know.

My husband likes for me to scratch his head when he is trying to relax and fall asleep. So as I was just lying next to him scratching his head my thoughts turned to prayer. My prayers were this: Please give him comfort in his fear. Calm his heart. Give him courage to face the results, give him strength. Give him acceptance. It occurred to me that I did not ask for healing. As that realization came over me, my next thought was, "Thy will be done."

It brought me back to 17 years ago as I was lying in a hospital bed getting ready to deliver a baby that would die as soon as he was delivered. I was in preterm labor, had passed the point of no return. Labor could not be stopped, but the baby was too early to be viable. My body betrayed me as I pushed out this baby into the world before he was able to live in it.

I prayed fervently that day. My prayers were for strength, for faith, for acceptance, for grace. Never once did I pray for him not to be born, or not to die. I prayed that God would lift me up and comfort me and help me through what was to come.

A week after burying our son Anthony, I returned to work. I was a wreck, but I couldn't just sit at home any more. One of my coworkers, whose husband was a minister, informed me that the reason my baby died was that I didn't pray hard enough. In my fragile mental state, I immediately started feeling guilty. Maybe she was right. Why didn't I pray for healing for my baby? Why didn't I pray for a different outcome?

It is said that tragedy is often a turning point for faith. Faith will be strengthened, or a person will turn from their faith. In my son's very very short life, he helped me define my faith. I will put my trust in God. I do not expect him to take away the pain, but I rely on Him to guide me through it, and to give me strength along the way.

And so, I pray for my husband. For peace, for comfort, for strength. And I humbly ask for you to keep us in your prayers, as well.

The Hamster Wheel

Ever have one of those days? I know I can't be the only one that spends the whole day running around, dropping off, picking up, frantically trying to check off the "To Do" list that never seems to get shorter. On days like these I just go into survival mode. Getting it all done, working out the logistics of how to get everyone where they are supposed to be when they are supposed to be there. And making sure everyone is picked up afterward, and not left behind.

One day it hit me that I'm like the hamster on the wheel. Running, running, running, but never getting anywhere. And then the million dollar question....

Does the hamster know he is on a wheel? Does he know he will never get to his destination? Or does he do if for the sheer joy of running? Has he learned the art of enjoying the journey?

Maybe the hamster has it right. I've never seen a hamster multitask. He runs. Or he eats. Or he sleeps. He does what he does while he does it. I've never seen a hamster nibble on a corn kernel while he runs to save time.

The fallacy is that we will catch up. That things will get done and stay done. That we will reach the destination.

I need to be like the hamster. I need to live in the moment. I need to enjoy the journey.

I have two awesome daughters. And the season of my life at this moment is to stay home and be their mom. That means volleyball games, play practice, play dates, birthday parties, orthodontist appointments, physical therapy appointments, meetings with teachers, and all the thousand things we do as moms. All the while trying to keep the house from looking like it was ransacked by burglars. And keeping a husband happy. And running a business. And carving some time for myself.

But it is an awesome journey, and as much as I may complain, I really wouldn't trade it for the world.