Last night I dreamed about my mother. She was tiny and frail, and I was caring for her, like we did in those last days. It was just her and me, together. No one else. She needed to go to the bathroom, so I carried her in. This is something I never would have attempted alone in real life for fear of dropping her, but dreams don’t often give options.
The toilet seat was closed and it was some kind of safety seat with a lock on it. I couldn’t get it open. I struggled with it, while holding her. Eventually, I just sat her on the closed lid. There was nothing else I could do. Her bladder released and dark yellow liquid spilled out all over the toilet, the bathroom floor and us. I pretended it didn’t. “Atta girl,” I said to her. “I bet you feel better now.” I bathed her and carried her back to her room.
I lay on the bed with her, and rubbed lotion on her back, her arms and legs. I replaced her gown. Then I just held on to her. Rocking back and forth. Just loving her. I started to sing.
Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling
Calling for you and for me
See on the portals He’s waiting and watching
Watching for you and for me.
Come home, come home
Ye who are weary come home
Earnestly, tenderly Jesus is calling
Calling, “O sinner come home”
O for the wonderful love He has promised
Promised for you and for me
Though we have sinned He has mercy and pardon
Pardon for you and for me.
Come home, come home
Ye who are weary come home
Only it wasn’t my voice, but her’s coming from me.
Then I woke up.
I miss her very much. I miss caring for her in those last months. I miss being there with her in the family home. Being with her and Piglet and Kevin and Daddy. The only goal we had was to show her as much love as we could while we had her there. To show her love, to receive love back from her, to show each other love and receive it back, because the end was in sight and there was nothing we could do to stop it.
It is amazing how simple things become, even the hard things, when they are the only things left to do. Just being together. Showing up every single day to give and receive love as long as we were able. Simple acts of love that seemed liked they would be hard, things we could not have imagined doing until we did. They were not hard at all. They were simple because they were the only things left to do.
… and then, oddly, we go back to the way it was before. I wonder why we do that.
I cried.
Thank you for this.