About a month ago, my 81 year old mother had a surgery she hoped would take care of all the problems resulting from radiation treatment in 1975. Some friends took her to the new doctor whom she had pinned her hopes on and scheduled the radical solution before my brother and I could click out heels and turn around. Because she is normally sloooow, I felt she must be very certain about this, and in truth she never wavered.
I gladly spent the days in the hospital with her–she sprang back wonderfully from the anesthesia–and brought her to my home to convalesce. Thus has proceeded–minus man-eating plants–the Little House of Horrors. Did I mention the surgery is a colostomy? I can’t think of a better demonstration of the perfect way God designed the human body, than that particular alteration. The equipment alone is like that scene in Apollo 13 when they dump the parts on the table and order the team to find a way for them to fit together and do something they weren’t intended to do. Then there’s my poor mother’s scoliosis, protruding rib cage on–yes THAT side–and the fact she now weighs eighty pounds, skin and bones. Thank the Lord, he blessed me with an unflappable spirit and a stomach of steel. I have deep compassion to handle the–um–equipment failures. But there’s no way, she’s doing this herself, nope, none, nuh-uh. Not ever.
Over the last few days, I think she’s realized she can’t go back to her house and yesterday we redecorated her room. (During the fire, I’d packed up the handmade things collected at folk art festivals and shops.) She exclaimed over each one and delighted in the process, never saying “I have to get home”. One thing especially touched her, something my daughter bought me years ago. I pulled it out and told her to read this every day. The calligraphy says: A rose of lasting beauty is my mother’s love to me. I cherish our time together and your sweet company.
My dears, I don’t know how much time I’ll have with her, but I can assure you, in spite of every pending disaster, every smell, every inconvenience, I will cherish these moments and her sweet company.