I packed the car with both dogs in the backseat. In the hatch, I added a spring wreath, a bouquet of pink daisies and homemade soup. I filled the gas tank on 585 and cruised toward Youngstown-Boardman. How many times in the past 37 years had I driven these roads, all for the same reason: to see Mom.
When I arrived, Mom was enjoying an afternoon siesta. I entered her nursing home room quietly, but her eyes opened and her smile rose like the sun.
"When did you get here?" she asked, her eyes glittering with tears.
"I just got here, Mom. What do you think of these flowers?" I asked. She sniffed the bouquet, then reached up to kiss me. I couldn’t believe how much I’d missed her.
Just then, an aide entered the room to change Mom so she could be Hoyer-lifted to her wheelchair. I waited in the hallway to give her privacy, taking down Mom’s Valentine heart on the door and putting up a pretty spring wreath with yellow flowers. We decided to leave her snowmen standing.
The aide heated Mom’s soup, then I began feeding her. She slurped every drop, saying it was as good as her own mother’s recipe, a true testimony of kindness. Then I took out my phone and began sharing photos. Mom loved looking at pictures of my Christmas tree, her grandson’s wedding last fall, her new great-grandchildren and yes, my kids.
The hours slipped by quickly. I fed her a jelly donut I’d purchased at Dunkin while she sipped an iced tea, her regular staple. All too soon, the sun was setting, and the dogs were growing restless.
"I have to start thinking about the drive home, Mom," I said as her eyes clouded with tears.
"Why does the time have to go so fast?" she asked. In the space of 3 hours, we had looked at hundreds of pictures, reminisced about the happiest times, admired our sweet babies, past and present.
"How old am I now?" she asked as I began to pack up my belongings.
"Almost 97," I answered with another kiss added to her forehead.
"Wow! I keep forgetting just how old I really am. Just be careful driving, or I’ll never forgive myself," Mom said as I bent to kiss her goodbye one last time.
"I’ve been driving to see you for 37 years, Mom," I said, my voice breaking with emotion. "You were pretty much my age when I moved away."
"I wish you never would have left," she called as I ushered the dogs out the door. I wish I’d never have left either, I thought. Never left my sweet mom.
https://www.beaconjournal.com/lifestyle/20200304/late-february-visit
2020-03-04 11:18:42Z
CBMiRGh0dHBzOi8vd3d3LmJlYWNvbmpvdXJuYWwuY29tL2xpZmVzdHlsZS8yMDIwMDMwNC9sYXRlLWZlYnJ1YXJ5LXZpc2l00gEA
Bagikan Berita Ini
0 Response to "A late February visit - Lifestyle - Akron Beacon Journal"
Post a Comment