The Ultimate Mom Lesson

My mother’s hands are clutched tightly closed. They’re contracted from disease. Those same hands used to feed me and hold my hand as a child. Now I feed her as an elderly adult. My mother no longer walks but is completely bedridden. She taught me how to crawl and watched me walk. As she battles dementia, I assist her in every daily need. Sadly, the same angelic voice that sang to me now simply rambles or doesn’t speak at all. My mother helped me speak and taught me to sing when I was a little girl. Reversing roles isn’t anything I anticipated. It’s the last lesson my mother will teach me.

My mother’s illness weaves a tale much like her life long guidance. Life is a testing ground, she warned me. Now, this battleground extends its territory daily. Dementia can be a cruel illness that robs the bearer of their thoughts. The mind becomes a puzzle to its host. My mother’s mind is no longer a place of joy, creativity and reasoning; it’s held ransom. The descent into dementia can be quick or slow but the end result is loss mentally and physically. My mother’s disease is the final chapter of a long list of lessons. While difficult to watch, it is perhaps the most important test.

Why commit to being a caregiver? It’s a question often asked by the revolving door of nurses, doctors, physical and speech therapists and certified nursing assistants who walked through my house door. I never responded to the question but silently I knew the answer. It was an unforgiving and endless job being a caregiver. However, isn’t that what my mother was to me so long ago? A caregiver? To give care is to receive care. This notion is the ultimate education in the cycle of life.

When I think back on my mother’s influence and guidance on my life, it’s similar to most. She watched me navigate the building blocks of success, accepting defeat and pushing past obstacles. She encouraged me to use my intelligence and instilled the values of self respect, determination and enjoying the simple things in life. She promoted education and wisdom. She stressed the concepts of patience, never giving up and helping others along the way. I think anyone reading can relate. Parents generally want the best for their children.

I think anyone who takes on the title of mother, whether biological or not, greets responsibilities both expected and unexpected. Titles don’t matter. They can be easily surpassed when an unselfish individual puts their life on hold to take care of a helpless child. Hence, the ultimate lesson and question. Does a child ever have the opportunity to help a parent in a similar manner?

When my mother’s health drastically changed, I was young but took on the role of a full time caregiver. To myself and my older sister, there was no choice. We decided to assume an unselfish responsibility. The ultimate lesson had returned full circle. Eight years later, it’s been a challenge to help an elderly adult, my mother, battle a disease that took her ability to communicate, walk and function physically.

When a parent is taken into the home and you become a full time caregiver, everything else comes second. You adopt the role of full time nurse. It’s a crash course, a terrifying ride and a humble experience. You’re responsible for all health care, medications, bathing, toileting, feeding and much more. Imagine everything you do for yourself. The daily routine you provide yourself is what you provide to someone else as a caregiver, especially when the recipient is bedridden. I realize a caregiver is a parent without advice.

I was fortunate to have my own business. I was blessed to have the time. This journey has taught me a lot. It has encouraged me to look deeper into how society treats our elders. My mother’s winding road in the health system for elderly adults began with a failed hip surgery and blood clot that left her feeble. Dementia set in and eventually she became bedridden. We live in a world that easily looks past our elders. She was quickly shuffled from the hospital to a nursing home with the loom of Title 19 on the horizon. Title 19 is what most adult children use to surrender their parent to a nursing home. Title 19 trades the parent’s home and any income for a room in a nursing home. I don’t judge this decision made by anyone. It’s not a choice for most people because they have jobs and children of their own. It’s simply a fact in our society. The elderly are left to fend for themselves.

My mother is blessed but too many of our elders are forgotten. Our healthcare system for the elderly is in dire need of revision. In any given grocery store on any given day, an elderly adult is choosing between food and medicine. On that same day, another will give up their home to pass their time in an unfamiliar place without family, as their health deteriorates. As day passes to night, another aging adult will fight for their existence in a hospital filled with too many elders and not enough staff to help them. This isn’t a political viewpoint but rather a value point. When did our elders become dispensable?

When I was younger, I was encouraged in a gifted and talented program to spend time with elderly people in nursing homes for our writing projects. My mentors called it bridging the gap between young and old. I did so willingly and saw so much through their eyes. Before my mother couldn’t speak, I still had conversations with her. I welcomed those exchanges and her wise counsel.

Our elders are a wealth of knowledge. I’d like to think, aside from nursing skills, her illness is simply another piece of wisdom. At some point, we all become a caregiver. This lesson teaches patience, the true definition of family and reversing roles. Never take for granted anyone who truly cares for you. In this life, we’re fortunate to find this gift from beginning to end.

Every night, I lower her bed using a remote control. I struggle with the constant drooling, threat of bedsores, add mixes to her drinks that prevent her choking, struggle with diapers, adjust large soiler’s and pillows, apply creams and provide medications. The cost of supplies isn’t paid for by our health care system and my nursing skills are free. The harsh reality ensues. I’m not the only one. Adults care for disabled children daily and their fight is permanent and admirable. My mother was correct. Life is a testing ground. It’s also a gift. I’d like to think if my mother could thank me it would be for returning the favor.