December 06, 2006
A time for everything
Originally published February 25, 2005
I paid a long visit to my mama today. (Isn't that a strange term? You "pay" someone a visit but you "give" them a call?) We sat in her kitchen and talked. She is still pretty wookie from the medication she's on, so I helped her work her morning crossword puzzle. We finished the entire thing.
The fluid in her lungs is already coming back and the Hospice people gave her a bottle of oxygen today. She's not having to use it yet, but she will have to shortly. She has congestive heart failure to go along with the rest of her medical problems. The Reaper is coming and we both know it, but we didn't speak directly about that.
We talked about my father.
Mama wants to meet with me and my brother to discuss her financial affairs so that we can handle what we need to do whenever we have to. She said that she liked my father's funeral--- short, simple and private--- and she wanted the same thing. She also told me that she has lived a wonderful life.
She received about six phone calls while I was there, all from people just checking up on her to make sure she was okay---friends, neighbors and people from the church. A lot of people care about my mama. I am one of those people.
She's NOT okay, and she's not gonna BE okay. But her spirits are high and she has no regrets. I simply wish that death would be as kind to her as she has been to EVERYBODY all of her life. A lot of the strut I always carried in my step came from that woman. She was a natural-born show-off, too. I don't want to see her waste away into something I don't recognize as my mama anymore.
A week ago, she asked me if I wanted anything from the house. I told her that I didn't want anything FROM the house. I just wanted HER in it. But you don't always get what you want.
There is a time for everything, and she's approaching that ultimate stop sign that we'll all see someday. She isn't afraid. She doesn't feel sorry for herself. In fact, she's still more worried about the people around her than she is about her own problems. I cried on my drive back home today, and I don't know whether I was crying for her or for myself. Maybe both. It doesn't matter.
If you read this blog, you can either like me or hate me and your opinion won't change a damn thing about something I know with all my heart. I come from good stock.
I am my mama's son.
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