A TRIBUTE TO MY MOTHER: I Was Really Paying Attention

Part 3

After moving to Texas from Alabama in the mid 1980s, my mom continued to work full time, and was a property manager for many years, even past her 65th birthday. She loved people, and loved to stay busy. My father did not make the move to Texas, he was retired and the hunting and fishing was not up to his standards there. Although they spoke on the phone daily, and he made extended visits, they lived apart for many years. They even traveled together from time-to-time.

She enjoyed her job and her family, and even though she attended church regularly in Texas, was not serving in multiple leadership roles as she had in her younger years. She had a little “spare” time at this point and was able to travel a bit, and enjoy her life in a less hectic manner. She seemed the happiest she had been in her life.

On the morning of July 29, 1997 my telephone rang with the news from my sister who also lived in Texas, that our mother had suffered a major stroke. It had only been two days since I’d had a couple of cervical discs repaired, and I was home recuperating from surgery. The news stunned me, but I didn’t feel it could be that bad because my mother was larger-than-life and nothing could keep her down for long. My neurosurgeon gave me the okay to travel [with that stupid collar] so I prepared to go to Texas.

My mom was in the rehab center when I arrived and both of my sisters were there, as was my older brother. My younger brother was in the U.S. Navy and was getting special permission for emergency family “leave”. There were rehabilitation sessions in another building, and Mom rode in a van to receive treatment. A pivotal moment occurred in my life was while waiting for the van to return to the main rehab center. I looked inside the van, parked just outside of the automatic doors, and I saw my mother. She was sitting alone and helpless, waiting for the attendant to help her get up and into a wheelchair. I will never forget that moment as long as I live. The world tilted on its axis for me. There was my mother, all but helpless. In my mind the impossible had happened.

Mother’s speech was slurred and her right [dominant] arm was completely paralyzed. The stoke had all but crippled her right leg as well. It had been only a few days since her stroke, and I watched as she signed her own medical papers using her left hand. It was then, I knew she would fight – and fight she did.

Mom continued to live alone, next door to my brother and my sister-in-law. It seems strange to refer to her as an “in-law”. My mother loved her as a daughter and in my mind she is our sister. Mary is her name. It was a struggle, but Mom insisted on having her independence as long as possible. Mary and my brother, [mostly Mary since my brother traveled with his work] helped Mom with the day-to-day things such as helping her get dressed, buying groceries, driving her to church, etc. This continued for 9 years. During this time, my mom had a several minor strokes, but continued to rebound and her speech was remarkable. In 2006 Mom decided to move back to Alabama. She enjoyed being around what family was still in the small town, including the many old friends from long ago, many with whom she had kept in contact over the years.

In January, 2008 Mom was hospitalized with pneumonia, and with a forceful cough, shattered a vertebra. She was rushed by ambulance to UAB Medical Center to receive the best treatment possible. [As a footnote, as we were preparing to leave the small hospital, the nurse came in with paperwork to be signed. With the EMTs waiting at her bedside, the nurse handed the clipboard to me to sign the necessary paperwork. This nurse did not know my mother very well. I told her that my mother signs her own forms, and gave the pen to my mother. As blood ran down her hand, and dripped onto the form [they had just removed her IV]; my mother, using her only “good” hand, signed herself out of the hospital]. The repair to her spine was done, but unfortunately Mom never could completely recover from the damage that shattered vertebra had caused her. Over the next several months she came to realize that she needed 24-7 care. She asked to leave Birmingham and return to her home town to check in to the nursing facility where she had visited others over the years, a place she had never wanted to reside.

As a vivacious woman, I remember my mom saying how she did not want things to go if she became ill in her elder years. Most of her worse “fears” came true for her…. with exception of losing her mental capabilities intact – she had that until the end. It was, however, remarkable to me that she was never angry with God, or blamed God for her plight. She certainly was a believer that God was almighty and powerful, yet she took full responsibility for her debilitating stroke in 1997, and the cascading health issues that followed. There were certainly times I would question or be angry with God. Why my mother? She had devoted all of her adult life to Him and in doing earthly duties on His behalf. Mom would tell me that it wasn’t God’s fault that she didn’t monitor her blood pressure as she should have; it wasn’t God’s fault that she didn’t go to the doctor when she should have, etc. She took full responsibility for her plight. For me, this is when things got interesting, spiritually speaking.

Growing up, the main message I got out of going to church was that you wanted to make sure you didn’t die and go to Hell. To do this, you must do God’s will and follow His commandments. By doing that, you could most likely avoid an earthly “smiting” that God could throw your way at any time. You followed the rules so that when you die, you go to Heaven. What I realized was that my mother seemed to take her “plight” in stride for the most part. As she continued to socialize with one usable arm and with her main mode of transportation, a wheelchair, she would laugh, joke around and continue to mentor others. After she became a “resident” in the nursing home, I could tell she was at yet another crossroad in her life. She was a bit antsy at first, but shortly after she knew this nursing home was her new home, and I could see that she had reached another level of peace. She made the decision to be happy there. It was not what she had planned for herself, nor what I thought the God I believed in would allow for her, but she decided to make it her home. She, even though physically limited, would get in her wheelchair and visit other residents. She was involved in her very small community, and everybody loved her. She was an inspiration to others all of her life, and now would be no exception.