How's your mom?

I get this question pretty regularly, which is always nice, but hard too, because I like that people care, but I don't like to talk about it really. So thanks if you have asked, I really truly appreciate it, I'm not trying to brush you off, I'm just uncomfortable talking about feelings.

Last weekend Addy and I took a trip down to Springfield to visit my mom. I wasn't sure what to expect, but even since I had seen her last it was a surprise both good and bad. My mom is no longer able to stand or walk. She can sometimes support her weight, and she can move her legs around a bit, but there is no muscle strength there. So my stepdad gets her up each morning and helps her get to the bathroom and gets her dressed. He is so kind and loving to her and includes her in everything, asking her opinion and helping her look nice each day. I don't think he does her makeup, but a man has to have some limits right?
There is a bathing assistant that comes out twice a week and helps her get cleaned up and fixes her hair and makeup, which I think is a lovely thing I wouldn't have expected them to do.

Once she's up, she gets fed breakfast. Just like I feed Addy with a bib on, spooning breakfast into her mouth, is exactly how my stepdad feeds my mom. It's pretty hard to even think about that and the significance that has.

From there he wheels her into the living room and puts her in her chair, which was previously my grandpa's when he was sick with cancer. The chair can lift you up almost to standing and is a huge help to my stepdad and hurts my mom a lot less when she's getting in and out of the chair. They are able to adjust her position a lot easier this way. She mostly watches tv and naps all day.

The evening looks a lot like the morning. Somedays they go outside - my stepdad built a wheelchair ramp with the help of his friend in the garage during her birthday weekend. He likes to take her for walks around their looped driveway. I think that's good for her. We sat out there a couple times.

I was pleasantly surprised at how well she could hold a conversation. She can respond to you most of the time, but you have to be careful how you word things. She can't tell you how she feels or why something is, but she can answer yes or no and does make comments about things from time to time. She gets mixed up often, and says funny things that don't make much sense, but I just laugh them off and she doesn't seem to remember half of what she says anyway.

In so many ways my mom is already gone. That seems harsh to you I'm sure. But I can't call her. I can't tell her about the difficult decisions I'm making in my life. I can't cry to her because I'm hurting. These are the things that mom's are made for. To comfort, to advise, to love and listen. All that is mostly gone.

But she isn't completely gone. There are times of clarity and times that I can see that she knows exactly what is happening to her. I think I wish she didn't know at all. I'm not sure I'll ever forget this one thing she said to me while we were there. My stepdad used me being there to run errands and I was home with Mom and Addy. At one point I could tell she was in quite a bit of pain so I asked her if I could do anything for her. Her neck is basically stuck tilted to the left and sometimes she needs it to be propped up a bit. I tried that, but her muscles were so contracted that it didn't work, it just hurt her more. So I said to her, "I wish I knew how I could help you, Mom. I don't know what to do." And in reply she said, "Can you fix me?"

The answer was no. No, I can't fix her at all. I don't have the knowledge, the skills, or a miracle pill in my pocket. But Jesus can. In a discussion with my stepdad he was telling me how he doesn't do some things or talk to her about some things because he doesn't want her to think he has given up hope. And I told him that because we are Christians there is hope in Heaven. That in Heaven we are healed and made whole, that there is no sorrow and no pain. That is the only hope I have left. The hope I cling to and the hope that makes all of this, easier.