After her stroke in January of 2018 there were so many days when she was just downright mean and aggressive, primarily taking out her her anger on my dad and me. I understood that she was angry and frustrated at her sudden fate, and that damage from her stroke made the outbursts worse, but it sure made her difficult to handle.
My mother and I have always had a challenging relationship. We are similar in many ways and both fiercely independent, read: STUBBORN. Old wounds festered for years, but over the past ten years we had finally developed a fragile peace. Peace that was fully dependent on very firm boundaries. Boundaries that required a lot of space for both of us. Boundaries that are nearly impossible to maintain now.
"Honor your mother and father, unless they are mean to you." I looked hard for that Bible verse, but.... Honor. It is a loaded word. Full of 'esteem' and 'respect', but also of 'obligation'. During the worst of it, obligation was the only thing that kept me in the game. It was drudgery. A trap I could not escape. I am a selfish person by nature, and I would rather have been doing almost anything else that wiping my mom's bottom, or washing her clothes, or trying to get her to eat, or answering the same question for the fifty-first time, or paying her bills, or, you get the point, ANYTHING else. And when she would yell at me to "go to hell", I would roll my eyes and respond with something kind like "I'm already there!". When she said harsher things I would yell back and then walk out of the room to cry. And then the guilt would wash over me as I realized that my own hurt had caused me to behave like a brat. The difference was I could control my responses but she could not control hers. My little inner Pharisee was showing. Sigh. My prayers became not just for her healing, but for mine.
Then March 31, 2019 happened. I had just arrived at my parents' house after a birthday weekend away with some of my besties. As I was talking to my niece, my mother suddenly sat up, grabbed her arm and started screaming that it hurt. Obviously something was wrong, but it seemed like her hand or arm was cramping. As we tried to help, I quickly realized that she was having a seizure. I called 911 and we tried to keep her from slumping over until they arrived. It was awful. Watching someone's brain short-circuit is something I hope I never see again. By the time EMS arrived she had almost stopped breathing.
At the hospital she coded. They took life-saving measures and inserted a breathing tube. The vent took over, rhythmically pumping air into and out of her lungs. She was motionless. It was bad and it looked hopeless. We were all in shock. Frightened. Worried. Anxious. Exhausted.
During her stay in ICU we learned more about her 1968 brain hemorrhage. The neurologist told us that she had essentially had a right frontal lobotomy because of the damage from the hemorrhage. For 50 years she had overcome the absence of a right frontal lobe. We had no idea. It explained so much. Her inability her to make sound decisions and judgments. Memories. Impulse control. Social boundaries. Suddenly all of the puzzle pieces fit together. We felt guilty for our lack of patience with her. We never knew how strong she truly was. We never realized that the things we thought were weird were actually miraculous. A brain hemorrhage, a stroke, and a seizure are more than one person should have to endure. But she has not only endured, she has thrived, quirks and all. We just wanted her to wake up. To have one more chance and a bit more time.
After almost two weeks in ICU, after we had been told that she had an anoxic brain injury and would never recover. After we had witnessed her vegetative state for too many long days and nights. After we had made the decision to call hospice and let her die at home. She woke up and indicated that she wanted to live. Just like that. The waking up defied all odds. It was a miracle. It brought healing and forgiveness as far as the east is from the west. We had been given a second chance. And even if it was short-lived, it would be worth all of the time and energy.
Our relationship is more tender now. I appreciate what I have more. I see the strength and beauty in her and I recognize that some of the decisions she made when I was a child were because she literally could not do better. It wasn't because I was not lovable or unworthy. She did the best she could. How can I do less now?
For years I would get angry when people told me I was like my mother, but now I have had a change of heart. I would be proud to have her same determination to live. The same ability to adapt and persevere under difficult circumstances. To find a way to be happy with deficits. To never give up.
The business of dying is messy. After seven weeks in the hospital and rehab, she returned home, only to be readmitted to the hospital a few weeks later. She is home now, while my dad is in rehab recovering from a fall. It is non-stop care for them and it is exhausting. Thankfully, there are several of us who take shifts, and my nephew has become an amazing caregiver. But we have all discovered that it is a privilege to walk alongside them as their lives wind down. Yes, it is hard and terrifying. But we can only hope that someone cares for us when we are vulnerable and our bodies are felled by our mortality. Lord, help me to be more like my mother and less like the Pharisee.
Luke 18:10-14 - The Parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector
10 "Two men went up into the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. 11 The Pharisee, standing by himself, prayed, thus: 'God, I thank you that I am not like other men, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. 12 I fast twice a week; I give tithes of all that I get. 13 But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even lift up his eyes to heaven, but beat his breast, saying, 'God, be merciful to me, a sinner! 12 I tell you, this man went down to his house justified, rather than the other. For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted."
