Rising to the Occasion of Motherhood

God

I am the kind of mother who touches her children every night and prays to god in heaven to make them smarter, braver, stronger, and better than the way they were the day before.

I ask that they be kind and direct and courteous and love their parents.

I ask to make them better at what they love and put music in their hearts in the morning.

I pray to make me a better mother, but if only one prayer can be answered, I want god to care for them.

I am the kind of mother that weeps when they fail.

I shake when they are on stage and I gasp when the spaces of breath are too long.

I am the kind of mother who waits patiently for them to figure out the math.

I am the kind of mother who says wipe it up, I’ll make more.  It doesn’t matter.  Breathe.

I am the kind of mother who explains boys don’t get it as fast as girls and that the pamphlet forgot to say ask permission to touch any one under any circumstances.

I am the kind of mother who said you can save yourself for marriage.  It is always an option.

I am the kind of mother who says you will need your brother one day don’t talk to him like that.

I am the kind of mother who cries secretly, fearing their future and praying I did enough.

And ten years after writing these words, I am still praying.

The Inspiration: The Original Rising

Sometimes in life you make deals.  Deals with God that you’ll be forgiven or you won’t be discovered.  Deals with people that let you down or deals that are kept and honored.  Occasionally, there’s the deal within the deal—unchangeable—a hidden charge to your soul, an ongoing accounting. 

My friend was diagnosed with prostrate cancer in 2000.  His name is Fred,Ted, John, Steve.  His name is every man.  He is 58 and single, divorced actually, relatively short and a little thick in the waist these days.He is an all-American guy with an interest in sports and a hope of getting laid. He says he is charming, witty, intelligent, and an Italian stallion.

Now, there is this cancer.  And a deal has to be made--a charge to his soul, the compromise of his life.  He would live and live longer but not as he had lived nor loved not ever.  The deal within the deal.

He was devastated, of course, by the news.  He asked those whom he chose to tell, not to tell anyone else.  That never works. He consulted many folks on which approach to the cancer he should take.  There was the cut from the front, the cut from the bottom, just radiation, or chemo.  Different surgeons, different hospitals. 

He is the analytical type who researches everything. He had two major concerns: losing bladder control and never having sex again the way he had before.  Live longer; live without this part of life.  The scale of fate.  The bargain.  

He’s reminded of a movie with Jane Fonda, some one whom he, a Vietnam vet, would not ordinarily care to remember.  Something tells him deals have a code, just like the codes in naval intelligence school. A code to understanding the charge to his soul he had not counted on, at least not where it mattered. 

He rented the movie with Fonda and John Voight or was it Kris Kristopherson?  Doesn’t matter now.  He walked away with something of value from the movie, although the main character never walked again.  Yet another deal for the soul, serve your country at the cost of never feeling below your waist.  Then, there is an opportunity that could only be present because the deal had been struck.  The deal is you have to love someone in more than one way.  Sometimes, we don’t know what love is until we have to give it under unusual circumstances; sometimes love is present in ways we don’t expect.

There are new opportunities, if only we can see them, but they aren’t told in advance. Soul bargains, the deal behind the deal. We can win if we are patient and true to ourselves. 

He has won two years of cancer-free checks, and though he is not restored to his former self, he is a person with a renewed sense of life and friends, of integrity and strength. He plans on running the 10k on Easter, and he tells himself running 6.2 miles for a recovering cancer survivor ain’t bad.

He tells himself the deal isn’t complete.  He is looking to challenge the hidden bargain, but that will have to wait until after the race, after he has mastered the code.

Today, he was told that his good friend has pancreatic cancer.  He went to see his friend and console him.  He took the code with him, hoping to break another encrypted message from above. 

He rose to the occasion.

Again.

of becoming your mother's care giver

I have had many challenges in my life, but none so hard as realizing that the last ever care free shopping trip with my mom happened in June.  She is facing heart issues and other stuff and isn’t carefree right now.

But I can tell you, amongst the grief and anger and emotional upheaval, is a group of incredibly strong staid women who face those like me and my mom every day.

I can tell you that the woman named Jackie, that washed my mother while she was in physical rehab, made her happy.  My mother said she had never been so clean and refreshed.  And when I told Jackie, she blushed and said thank you.  Humble, kind and reliable.  Jackie is the true meaning of the everyday elder care hero.

Then of course there is Martha, the stalwart, who knows how care should be and takes it personally and takes pride in her investment of time.  Martha is the queen of "I can get her to eat again" folks.  She has already proven herself with the yogurt that she made mom eat.  Martha makes companies like Hope Well be successful.

And tonight, there is Alma, the night caregiver, who will stay awake in case my mother gets up.  And she will read in her chair and listen and oh by the way, water is fine, I don't need coffee to stay awake.... Alma.

And may I tell you that there are others who helped in this process whose names I don't have down on paper.  The ones who said, "you are amazing for showing up every day and looking out for her".  The ones who came down the hall to tell me they think that there is no hope or all hope or just a hug or just a good bye squeeze.

My father asked what was her name?  I tried to explain.  I don't know Jackie's last name, but I know she has three kids and one has football on Thursday's.  I don't know Janice's last name, but her sister lives in Quitman and her mom is at home for now.

I don't know the night nurse or the day nurse or even the head social worker's name.  But I know they all came down the hall to hug me, to catch my tears or just tell me to go outside for a few moments.   I know the ones who wear red and the one's with matching eyeglasses.  I know the young one that wanted to wear green nail polish and the cranky old one who told me that he should be present to discuss how my mother behaved on medication.

I don't know the outside of them anymore than I know the outside of my mother.

I know the inside of them is warm and loving and wanting and alive.

I know the inside of my mother is still a mess.  And it may never change, it may always change.

What doesn't change is my memory of our last shopping trip and the girls day out.  And I miss her already and I love her forever.  Thank you mom, for every one you have been and everyone you are and for being my rock.  You still are the amazing woman I love.