Mom and I have always been sunbirds. We love to be outside, in the sun, enjoying nature. For her it was gardening, for me it’s horses of course. With the weather coming up about to be dreadful, today was a good day to go take mom outside for a while. It’s about 68° and mom is in her high-back wheelchair. As I push her around and talk to her about everything from the weather to Baby Girl to horses she just soaks it all in, but without making a sound and without giving any indication at all that she is listening. But I know that she is.
Two weeks ago mom was very very sick with Covid. I was very afraid that she wasn’t going to make it. But with two IV infusions of vitamins, minerals, and whatever else they could throw in there she brightened up considerably. She made it through. She was smiling and talking again and her eyes were bright. She was very aware of her surroundings.
Today mom is not so bright. Her head lists to the left and they have given her a neck pillow so that she won’t strain her neck muscles. Her whole body kind of slumps to the left, and her legs stay straight even when they should bend. The two ladies that help her move from the recliner to the wheelchair do a great job, considering they get absolutely no muscle movement from mom at all. I’ve been down low so that she can see my face, and I take my mask off so that she’ll know who I am. I say hi mom and give her my best smile. She gives me a little half smile back and her eyes tell me she remembers me.But there’s no more reaching up to my face and patting my cheeks with her hands.
I tell Mom I love her, as I always do multiple times each time I visit. She mumbles back I love you too, but I’m not sure if it’s a response simply because she’s expected to make one or if she actually knows what she’s saying. It’s hard to tell now. She’ll tell the girls she loves them too, if they say it first. They do love her, and I am so grateful. I talk to Mom as we walk. We stop and fill up her bird feeder with the bird seed I bought. I fill up another feeder that’s empty as well, because I’ve got some left in the bag. I don’t know if Mom can even enjoy the birds anymore but that doesn’t stop me from trying.
Mom’s chest sounds awful. I’ve brought her a Coke from McDonald’s and she takes a sip with the straw. It takes her a few tries but she can still do this. As she tastes the Coke her eyebrows raise up and I know she still likes the taste. Best thing ever, huh Mom? I say. But then she coughs and the gunk in the back of her throat sounds scary. It reminds me of Dad basically drowning in his own saliva and I am concerned. I understand this is a constant now – she can’t truly cough anything up and there’s only so much the medication can do. COPD has been an important factor in her illness and not for the first time I wish she had never picked up a cigarette.
We sit in the sun and I take her hand in mine. I rub her fingers while she dozes. I can’t stay long – there’s always somewhere else I have to be or something else I have to do. Time is not my friend. Nor hers. I rewind the tape in my head and put us both on the back porch of their house in Tyler. Chilling out. Chatting while Mom smokes. Me in the swing drinking wine. Watching the birds and the squirrels. Talking about what to cook for dinner and where we want to go shopping tomorrow. Me telling her all about my life and her listening and trying to solve all my problems.
I would give anything to go back. Watching Baby Girl play in the little pool, or on the playscape Grandpa bought. Hearing my Dad pontificate on some topic, or tell a story I’ve heard a hundred times. Laughing and enjoying life, de-stressing and knowing that my Mom and Dad still have my back. Not aware yet that there will be a time when they don’t. When I’m on my own and have to be the Strong One At All Times.
The past is gone, evaporated like smoke. So, right now Mom, I’ll hold your hand and dream with you in this beautiful sunshine.
