As I write this post I’m in New Jersey, preparing for my Mother’s funeral.  After many years battling Progressive Supranuclear Palsy, she very recently passed away. Fortunately my prayers of late were answered and she died peacefully in her sleep. It is a mix of feelings, as anyone can imagine:  the sadness when I think that I will never again kiss my mother good night, but relief in thinking she will no longer decline. But the one surprise I truly feel is how much it means to me now the relatively short time I spent being her caregiver.  What came about because of misfortune was truly a blessing in disguise.

Shortly after my mother moved to CA permanently, I was laid off from my job when our clinic closed its doors.  I felt lost and that my life was out of control. But then, as I began to put my professional life together with a patchwork of part time jobs, I decided to include a few shifts a week as her caregiver.  For six months, until I was offered something full time, I fed my mother, dressed her, took her shopping, and did her morning and bedtime routine. As clearly I am not a trained professional, it was hard for me.  But I know it must have been even harder for my Mom. I did most things wrong, especially anything involving transferring her and balancing her weight.

But what I think about now that I am so grateful for is the intimacy it provided us.  When you care for someone, even inefficiently, there is a lot of touching. And there is also a lot of vulnerability and a need for trust that is a big responsibility.  Thank God my mother had a great sense of humor and could laugh off most of my errors, overgrinding her meatloaf and overfilling her small mouth. But I was by far the worst at getting her into bed.  In fact, more than a few times I managed to swing her well enough across the bed, but with too much force that I landed smack on top of her. Boy did we laugh.

And that is what makes me smile now and gets the tears flowing.  Although anyone else would have fired me, in fear for their life, my mother loved every minute of it.  And that is what I will miss most about my mother. No one else but your mother thinks your scribbles are art, your mess of words poetry, or the cake you try to bake her a culinary masterpiece.  No one but your mother remembers with such joy when made your first Halloween costume, went on your first date, or walked to the podium to get your diploma. There is love, but now that I am one and no longer have a living one, I absolutely understand there is no purer love than a Mother’s love. 

I love you and miss you already, Mom.  Your memory will always be a blessing.