Growing Up Old

Hello, whoever is reading this. I'm Krystal. I'm 24 years old. I had an "older" mother growing up. Her name was Barbara. She birthed me when she was 43 years old. She always called me her "little miracle baby," because I was born perfectly healthy; she had two children prior to me (in her 30s) and they both were born premature. I have one sister that has Cystic Fibrosis, and my other sister was born with Down Syndrome, Cerebral Palsy; she was blind, completely wheelchair bound and had to be tube fed. With her being 43 and pregnant (in 1992), doctors recommended that she abort the pregnancy because I was bound to be born with Down Syndrome (or a worse genetic condition), but my mom didn't care and she even refused the genetic testing that could detect it before birth. My mother had trouble conceiving at first and thought that she might not ever be a mother with having had three miscarriages before one actually stuck.

She was also a partier; she was a cocktail waitress most of her young adult life and the lifestyle definitely got to her. She drank, a lot. She was an alcoholic and drank until she blacked out every night for a long time. I believe once she got pregnant with her first two she cut back significantly, but even my sister was still born with fetal alcohol syndrome. When she realized she was pregnant with me, she quit cold turkey and never went back. She always told me that she did it because she knew she screwed up with the first two and was determined to do it right this time. I also think my dad played a big role in her quitting as well; he hated her drinking.

My whole life growing up everywhere I went with my mom they would say, "Oh is that your granddaughter?" or "You're out with your grandma today?" We would just politely say no and explain that she's my mom. It would always follow with an "Oh, I'm sorry!!!" and a wide-eyed look. My mom and I got used to it.

As a young child and young adult I never really minded having an older mom. It was usually quite nice, actually. She was very trusting of my decisions and judgement. My mom also was a stay-at-home mom so I got to be with her as much as I wanted, which I loved. I was a momma's girl for sure. Going into my adolescent life (13-19) my mom always had the best advice for me. In that stage of life (as a female), you go through a lot of girl drama, boyfriend heartache, and just overall hormones that are difficult to navigate. My mom was there for me through it all. My most comforting thing to do, even at 18, was to curl up on her lap and cry out whatever it was that I was sad about. It was mostly about boys or a girlfriend and I got in a fight and weren't friends anymore. She always had the best advice. I hit the jackpot with an older mom; she had all the answers and honestly she was always right. She was my best friend. I knew I could trust her with all of my secrets. I told her everything. It was the best...

Until she got sick. When I was 19 I got a hysterical phone call from my sister one morning saying that "mom wouldn't wake up." My mom was staying at my sisters at the time because my mom's apartment got ruined by an F5 tornado. We live in Moore, Oklahoma, so if that tells you anything. Yes, I'm referring to the crazy huge tornado in 2013. Anywho, I half-assed got dressed and high tailed it over to my sisters (on foot because we lived in the same apartment complex). While running I felt such intense thoughts of desperation take over me, and thinking the worst of all possible outcomes, that she was going to die or was already dying.

I got to my sister's and my mom was non-responsive and her breathing sounded like rice krispies getting wet. I'll never forget that sound. In the moments of panic, I wasn't sure what to do. Do I call 911? Is she bad enough to need an ambulance? Do we try to take her ourselves? So I called my boyfriend at the time's dad. He rushed over there and told me to call 911 ASAP. So here I am calling 911 for the first time in my life and my fingers were shaking so bad pressing the buttons on my phone. A few minutes later the ambulance arrived and took her away. My sister and I just stood there crying begging the EMT's to save her. We got properly dressed and followed the ambulance to the hospital. We get there and there was just lots of waiting, but turns out Mom had bronchitis and pneumonia. She was getting admitted to the ICU; shortly after they had to put her on a ventilator because she wasn't oxygenating well enough. Soon after that, her body was not wanting to let the vent breathe for her, so they had to give her drugs to paralyze her so that the vent could do its job.

Fast forward to her recovery; she had gotten over her pneumonia and got transferred to a normal hospital room. Hours later she had a stroke and a seizure. The stroke was causing a continued, but slight, brain bleed. It wasn't a bad enough bleed for them to do surgery, so they just kept an eye on it. And back to the ICU she went. She was in the ICU for a total of 3 months. The stroke caused terrible right side weakness and she was unable to walk or write, lift her right arm at all; so she couldn't make her own food, or feed herself. She couldn't care for herself at all anymore, even going to the bathroom required assistance. It was like her whole entire right side was paralyzed.

My heart was broken. My mom seemed so...different. She wasn't the same strong and stubborn mom anymore. She was having a hard time remembering things. It was then that I realized the stroke had hurt more than her physical body, but her mind as well. It broke me. You see, my grandma ultimately passed away from Alzheimer's disease, and now our mother was displaying the same signs as well. My sister made the difficult decision to put mom into a nursing home. Which that hurt us both even more, we promised mom we would NEVER put her in a nursing home....we also never thought she would get so disabled that she wouldn't be able to walk or feed and bathe herself. These were things my sister and I weren't physically capable of doing; especially not without the fear of hurting our mom or ourselves in the process. We decided it was best for her to be in a place where there are trained experts on elderly care, no matter how much it hurt us or made mom mad at us. It seemed like she hated us for that six months that she was in there. It took her six months to be able to walk again (with a walker), but hey she was able to walk. She was able to lift her right arm a bit and write some as well. So, we got her out of there and into her own place again. She loved it and was okay for a couple of years.

She got bad again. She fell and broke her hip and lower spine. She had actually fallen quite a few times in that apartment. So many times that the fire department said they would have to call adult protective services if we didn't get her in a different living situation. They didn't get that far though. Before I knew how bad off she was after breaking her hip and spine, I had been working A LOT and going to school. I was a busy little bee. She was in so much physical pain that she couldn't get up, and when she did get up she couldn't support her weight due to the breaks (duh), and the pain. She was in so much pain (and forgetting) that she kept taking more pain meds than her dosage, and even then wasn't getting relief. She ended up calling me several times, crying telling me she didn't to go to the bathroom and couldn't get up. I would have to go over there (luckily I lived close by), and help her get up and go. And then came the times when I couldn't make it over there in time...and boy did I have a huge mess to clean up. You see, she had been in the hospital right after the breaks had occurred and she was there for three weeks, which is all that medicaid would pay for, and the hospital decided she had enough rehab and needed to walk on it and sent her on her way. Damn our medical insurance. But in these times I realized I couldn't let her stay there alone anymore. She got so bad I had to take her back to the ER because she had such a bad bed sore from sitting in one spot too long and sitting in her own filth (waiting for me to get there to help her), that I could see the sore eating away at her skin. Good thing I checked her in because doctors said that the sore could've gotten into her central nervous system since the sore was right on the tailbone and she could've become septic and died from it. She was admitted right away, and then I went on my search on how to get my mom into a nursing home (AGAIN). After she had been there for 4–5 days, her sore was healed up some and they got her pain under control and she had gotten some good meals and got her strength back again.

Then she went to the nursing home. She hated me. She didn't want to do this again. I felt like a terrible daughter. I tried to make her room as homey as possible, it didn't help. She cried all day and night for the first two weeks she was there. I was constantly getting calls from nursing staff saying she wouldn't eat, and wouldn't stop crying. She would call me and yell at me and said that I hated her and was going to let her die there. Deep down I knew she didn't mean these things. That whole year or so, I knew she wasn't my mom anymore. Not the mom I knew when I was younger, and not the mom I wanted her to be. And that made me so DAMN angry.

From the first time she went into a nursing home in 2013, I lost her then. I mourned her then. The WORST feeling in the world is having to mourn the loss of someone who was still alive. I was so bitter. I was jealous of all of my friends with healthy, young parents. It wasn't fair. No one in the world knew what I was going through or how I felt. I had never felt so alone.

I have always been mature for my age (due to having an older mom), but after my 19th year, I really had to grow the hell up. And fast. I didn't have my mom to make my appointments for me anymore, I didn't have her to cuddle up with and cry on and to get that wonderful advice... or just hearing her say she would go "beat their ass" for hurting her sugar baby. Yes, even at 18 I was still (and always will be) her sugar baby. It was a pain I had never experienced and it was a pain I NEVER wanted to experience again. So after that I distanced myself from my mom. I would go visit her and do my daughterly duties for her. I always visited on holidays, and got her gifts. We would talk on the phone every now and then, but as time went on it got even more distant. I didn't want to hurt again when her time would come that she wouldn't be on this earth with me at all.

And then finally it did. The time came. January 21st, 2018. The day I'll never forget. I didn't get to speak with her before she went into her coma. She didn't get to meet her granddaughter. (I wasn't going to bring my newborn into a nursing home or a hospital once she was admitted). She would've loved her so much. I did, on the other hand, get to be with her in her final moments. Regardless of the fact that she was in a coma, she knew I was there, I think. I held her hand as she took her last breath. I hope she was comforted. And I hope someone she missed dearly was there to take her to the afterlife, and that she wasn't afraid. She was always so brave.

And that's how it feels to grow up with an older parent. You lose them at 24 years old, when you've barely entered adulthood. When you still need them for so many important life moments. It's not fair. I know it could be worse, I could've grown up without a mom or lost her at a much younger age. I guess I should feel lucky for the years I did have with her. I just don't think a 24-year-old should be having to make the after life arrangements for their mother. It's heartbreaking. But I got through it. And I'll be stronger for it. And now someday I'll tell my very own sugar baby all about her grandma and how wonderful and loving she was.