"The Visit"

As I pulled into the parking lot of my mother's nursing home , I suddenly became overwhelmed.  Today...today's visit, would be different.  I have written about my parents in previous blogs.  None of those blogs did either of them justice. How can you possibly encompass all of the emotions,  and the realizations that can surface with one or two blogs?

Mom's nursing home has finally freed up its visitation. Visits are now, no appointment necessary.   The pandemic has dictated and continues to dictate every part of our lives ( "Making an appointment to see your mother???  Really??" ) but for now, today, I was back to "normal" and able to see her.  Protocols in place I waited nearly an hour before they would bring "Mickey" out to see me.  "MOM!!!!!!!" I said, as the extremely tired looking attendant rolled her towards me.  It is still difficult for me to accept that the woman who danced on Jones Beach, made apple strudel, apple pies, homemade bread, hiked the Appalachian Trail, made fabulous dinners each and every night, is now confined to a wheel chair.  "You are no longer  in denial, Claude," I said to myself. 

Mom has a hearing aid which works to a certain degreee but I bring a dry erase board because sometimes she can not always make out what is being said. Every accommodation possible has to be made when it involves love.  Mom was so excited to see me. "Claudia!!!"  Why do mothers always know which strings to tug at your heart?  How do they do that? I have asked that question over the years, time and time again and the answers always vary.

The woman in the wheel chair wanted her daughters to be college educated. My touring with an Actors' Equity theater troup at 14 was and I quote, "Over my dead body." That was the first time we butted heads.  The second, when I failed my driver's test.  I needed more practice.  She wanted to hold on a little longer.  Maybe it was because I spent my first days after being born in an incubator...Maybe it was because I was born five weeks early, and placed in an incubator at five pounds that Mom had this inherent, continual need to protect me or at times "over protect" me.  

It has never been easy for me to make decisions.  I transferred to three different colleges before receiving my Bachelor's degree in journalism. Two years later, after realizing that local reporters only made five dollars and hour at that time, I decided to substitute teach and well, I was hooked and went back to school for a teaching certification.  My mother could not have been happier.  She was even prouder when I received my master's degree with honors.  When your parents are proud of you, those feelings last.  They never leave you.  I told her the single most important thing..."I have no regrets Ma...Not about becoming a teacher, not about anything I've done."

When you are witness to the aging of your mother and father, you are also facing your own mortality.  As they age, you look at your life differently and ask yourself, "How do I want to age?  How do I age gracefully, peacefully?  How do I do all of the things I want to do before I can not and how does one prepare without it being obvious?"  My mother never answered those questions so we did, for her safety and her health.  

It was time to leave and I looked up at the attendant who would bring Ma back to her area and nodded trying not to outwardly cry. "Bye Ma," I said.  "Stay out of trouble..."  We leaned in to each other and kissed and hugged.  "I love ya Claude," she smiled.  

It was a long ride home. This had been the visit I had dreamed of for months. Now matter how much in denial I have been, I see now that again, I am my "Mother's daughter."  However, my terms will be and are, much different than hers.  What I am grateful and thankful for is that she is now unequivocably proud of her daughters.  "Life is complicated," Ma would be the first to tell anyone.  It can even be cruel but the single most important thing to remember is that "WE ARE LOVED."