Parents

Caleb is coming home from his first semester at University of Michigan.  I recalled the evening before he left for college, we embraced each other in a big, tight family hug and cried.  Going through my mind was the memories of the years that have gone by.  I remember holding him tight as a baby in the shower and whispering, “Nice and warm” in his ear as he almost fell asleep in my arms.  I remember when he was 3 or 4 years old – I sat in his dark room every night on a rocking chair because he wanted me to stay until he fell asleep.  I would try to slink to the floor and army crawl out of the room trying not to wake him, but inevitably he would bolt up as if asking, “Where do you think you’re going?”  Then, I would trudge back to the rocking chair, smile, and let him know I’m still here.  I remember the hours of telling stories. I remember the hundreds of hours together doing robot contests.  More recently, the many evenings helping edit college essays.  And as college approached, it felt like watching a sunset with dread and excitement.  Slowly awaiting the inevitable – the slow but unstoppable disappearance of the sun.  And then, he was gone.  Though we talk weekly (and sometimes even throughout the week), there’s clearly an emptiness of absence after 18 years of loving a person. 

My mother told me that she cried for a month after I left for college.  I do not remember thinking of home at all once I got to school.  There were so many new things to be excited about.  I almost never called home.  Back then, there were long-distance charges but the truth of it was that I never really thought about home or my parents.  I know I do not deserve the weekly calls from Caleb, but I accept them as God’s tender mercies – and I’m grateful life is not fair.  And it is not until you have children of your own, you start getting a glimpse of how much your own parents truly love you.  And although I have told my mom I love her, I have rarely shown it in service or sacrifice.  For nearly half of a century, my mom has shown me a very one-sided relationship of love where she gives and gives and gives. 

About 7 years ago, she was diagnosed with meningioma which is a tumor in the membrane that surrounds the brain.  She had it removed via surgery, and after a few laser treatments, she has been able to live her normal life.  However last summer, the tumor began to grow again.    Often these tumors are a bit like a time-bomb.  It is nearly impossible to kill all of the tumor cells, and it is a matter of time until they start growing again.  With the tumor growing, it started to affect her ability to walk.  She started using a cane.  Then a few weeks later, a walker.  Her right leg and her right arm will no longer obey her will.  They are weak and sluggish – often night moving at all.  Over Thanksgiving, she fell in the kitchen and broke a rib and her right wrist.  She has since been in a cast.   This was the incident where we finally had to call it and agree that it was no longer safe for her to walk around (or even stand) by herself.

Suddenly, a list of everyday tasks became daunting.  Getting out of bed.  Going to the bathroom.  Changing clothes.  Taking a shower.  Making a meal.   Starting after Thanksgiving, she needed help with all of these day-to-day tasks that we normally take for granted.  Some people never get a chance to truly show how much they love their parents (aside from perhaps saying it.)  I think of the years and years that she has taken care of me – changing a thousand diapers, preparing thousands of meals, caring for and worrying about me when I’m sick, cleaning up after me, purchasing the many things needed to educate me, entertain me, and comfort me.  And now, here is my chance to show my love back.  I’m grateful that I’m in a place in my life where I can help and contribute.  There’s flexibility in my work schedule.  Caleb is in college.  We were able to find a helper for the mornings that can help while I take Andrew to school and I’m able to still go into work in the mornings.   I have the afternoon, dinner, and evening shift.  When I think about if my children will do this for me, I would understand if they could not.  Most of my life, I likely could not have taken this on.  What a blessing that this is happening at a time when I can spend this time with my mom. 

I think there is some psychological taboo when we think about helping our parent use the bathroom or take a shower.  There’s a worry about dignity and privacy.  But after the first few days of figuring things out, there’s a comfort on both sides that a familiar, loved one is helping in these very intimate acts.  Each day that I help her finish up the day and put her to bed, I can see that she is getting weaker.  I can see the inevitable sunset approaching – slow and unstoppable.   Every time I tuck her in to bed and we exchange our “I love you’s”, it’s like another train stop closer to the final destination.  I am not sad.  We must all return where we came from without exception.  If nothing else, I’m grateful for this final ride together and determined to make the most of it.  She has given all she can in her works and what she has left are just the words of love.  My “I love you’s” must now turn into deeds that she might know they were not mere empty words.