My Own Miracle
Last night, around 1:30, after having made several trips to the front porch, I boldly announced that the eclipse was beginning. The troops rallied! Kate got out of bed, put on her down vest, as it was in the fifties, and made her way outside. Merry, our little dog, had to be repeatedly coaxed to leave the comfort of her warm and cozy bed – ringing the door bell works best. But my Mother, all but sprang from her bed, with wool blanket in tow.
We looked up and marveled at the first complete lunar eclipse, during winter solstice since 1638! The sun, earth, and moon had perfectly aligned, and as the full moon passed behind the earth, the sun was temporarily prevented from shinning through. We witnessed the dark, smoky shadow encroaching on the moon, slowly moving from left to right, leaving behind a beautifully glowing orange moon!
After sitting outside for several minutes, marveling over what it all meant and how it worked, we made our way inside to a hot cup of tea. For the next few hours, my Mother and I sat talking, drinking our tea, and periodically stepping back outside to check the progress of the eclipse; for my Mother, stepping back outside meant struggling to get out of the chair, grasping on to the walker, painfully stepping toward the door, maneuvering the small step outside, and balancing herself to look up.
During our conversation, we covered how quickly the year had gone. It was amazing that the New Year was just a few short days away. It had been quite a year. My Mother commented on the mug her tea was served in, that it said Tampa. I hesitated a moment, thinking about my niece, Hannah, for whom the mug had originally been bought; but the mug had become something more than another city mug from Starbucks, and thus it would not make its way into Hannah’s hands. I told my Mother that Kate and I had bought it the last time we had been to Tampa, to see my Aunt, who had recently passed away. We talked about Aunt Roxanne and what a remarkable woman she had been, the words full of life kept coming up, and yet she was gone now. It will always be impossible to understand that death. We talked about Christmas, the tree, stockings, and presents. We talked about my sisters, and my niece Allison, who celebrated a birthday the day before. My Mother mentioned that Allison was at a perfect age, I agreed. We talked about God and the state of the world, and we talked about her and what was yet to come.
She had survived so much this past year. We reflected on her fall, which led to a broken hip, surgery, and a long hospital stay. My sister, Caroline, had willed my Mother out of that first hospital in time for Christmas, last year. But my Mother had not done well. There had been surgery, to implant a screen, as blood clouts had become an issue, there were problems with her heart, and two leaky valves, and there was pain and swelling, leading to return trips to the emergency room and hospital. Her right leg, which had always been her bad leg, having survived ostio mellitus as a young woman, had suffered three breaks, at some unknown time. A return to the hospital, for months of rehab! But here she was once again in my living room in Florida!
A walker has become her trusted companion, and Kate and I are still working on making adjustments to our house, so that my Mother can easily maneuver, but she is maneuvering!
Sitting with her last night, I could not help but reflect on how sharp she was, she reminded me that she has had some moments in the last few years where she did not quite feel herself. I remember, but look at you now, I kept saying. There are challenges, and they are real. Looking at my Mother’s legs, I marvel that she walks at all. I know she lives with great pain, but this is a woman who as I went to inform her that the eclipse was starting, asked me where the Sermon on the Mont could be found? She had sat in my Florida room, two days before, and read Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights, in less than a day; and been most excited, when walking into her room, in my house, to see so many of her books lining the shelves!
There have been a lot of ups and downs for her this year. She has endured a great deal of pain, and quite literally every step she takes causes her great anguish. Nevertheless, she continues to make her way up and down the steps, down the driveway, and up the street, walking her way back to life. It is a miracle that my Mother has been able to travel to Florida, and my thanks to the lovely people at Southwest who took such great care of her, including her pilot, who tipped the wheel chair steward, when my Mother could not find her wallet.
We have a tendency to throw away our elders when they are no longer able to pay our bills, watch our kids, or complete our “to do list”. We stop valuing older people when they need help getting up, or forget where they left something, or feel sad and lonely, isolated in a world which refuses to stop for them while they grieve the loss of loved ones who have already departed. We do not want to hear their woes, perhaps because it reminds us that before too long, they will be our woes too. We value youth, but there is also value in experience and a shared history.
Last week, a neighbor, Derna, sat with us and remarked that after 90 things become difficult, she said around 92 you really start to feel your age. Kate and I exchanged looks and laughed, we felt those changes at 40. But Derna reminded us that this journey continues until it ends. Aging is not easy, and taking care of someone who is older can be challenging, but there is worth in all life.
I am grateful to Caroline and Doug who endured so much fighting for my Mother’s life, and I pray that God will give Kate and I equal strength and perseverance as we take on this role. Yes, yes, yes, I know all about what is wrong with older people, but I feel blessed this morning. I am looking forward to my miracle Christmas with my Mother – my Mother who on so many occasions during this last year we thought we might lose. She is here and she is alive! That is all for now.
