Light in the Darkness

My beautiful mama started falling about four months ago. The falls came without warning, increased in frequency, physically hurt her (broken bones, black eye, and more) and terribly frightened us all.

My mom’s doctor prescribed a home health care nurse to visit mama and take her vitals on a regular basis. One day, mom’s blood pressure dropped so dramatically from sitting to standing that the doctor directed her to the emergency room.

Initially, mom’s vitals looked pretty good. During one of her falls she had broken vertebrae, so they performed a procedure on her while in the hospital which injected cement into the broken bones.

Then she came down with pneumonia. Unbeknownst to any of us, one can get pneumonia by aspirating on food or drink.

The five to seven days after this diagnosis are a bit of a blur in my memory. Mom was incredibly weak, on IV antibiotics, experiencing back pain from the procedure, and hallucinating. She talked about dying and her final wishes.

My father, my rock for all of my fifty-four years, called me in tears on the way home from the hospital one day and said to me … “Tun, I think we are losing our mama.”

My heart was breaking, but I had to hold it together to take care of my two parents in this situation. Whenever I wasn’t with one or the other, or talking to them on the phone, I was a mess.

Everything in life was taken down to a level of complete exposure and vulnerability. My emotions were absolutely raw – there was no pretense or protective layers to me. I dressed for comfort and ate out of necessity. My empathy was heightened. I immediately felt everything even more deeply as it happened around me.

And yet, as I existed in this state, I was acutely aware of the beauty surrounding me.

I was overwhelmed by the love story of my parents. I watched my dad actually contemplate living without his best friend since the age of 15. Painful beyond words, and yet so achingly beautiful that two human beings have the type of love that they have shared.

Every day I would ask my mother two questions. Are you fearful? Do you feel loved? I needed to know that she was not, and that she felt our love. In a less than fully conscious state, she always assured me of both. I felt the beauty and the strength in these answers. Our faith and our love carried us. I also knew that she was caring for me in those moments – trying to allay my fears. She will always be protecting me.

My mother and I have had an incredibly expressive relationship. My love for my father is no less, but our relationship different. During this period of time, I needed him to know how much I loved him and how much a part of my life he is. I felt his fear in facing life without my mom and I wanted him to know that we would face that together. Our conversations during this period were some of the most expressive and loving conversations we have had and such a gift to me, and I hope to him.

My brother flew to Dallas. His presence and love and the love of his wife and kids brought us all strength.

The blend of my new family into this mix filled me with gratitude. My stepsons expressed concern and love for my parents. My husband continuously provided comfort to me and also valuable advice. He watched football with my dad while I sat with my mom in the hospital.

Friends and family reached out to us. Many prayed and sent strength. It all helped more than I can express.

I am truly overwhelmed by the kindness and love with which nurses perform their job. Their soft touch, their assurances, their kindnesses – I saw them all given to my beloved mother at a time when she so needed it.

After three weeks, my mom recovered from the pneumonia and was discharged from the hospital. She came home to my dad and Cory (their beloved Jack Russell). She is weak, but we are all so grateful to have the three of them reunited.

As they prepare to start the next chapter of their lives, in a new home, we are all filled with hope, love and gratitude.

Personally, I feel a bit wiser after this past month. I now know that I will never be ready for the death of my parents. And yet I also know that in such periods of pain and sadness, if I am open to it, there is beauty that will strengthen me.