My 96-year-old grandma, who was an absolutely amazing lady, recently passed away. While of course we are mourning her loss, this post isn’t actually about her. Instead, I want to tell you a story of some ordinary (but also really amazing) women who cared for their aging mother in an extraordinary way. It’s a tale mostly to remind myself of the type of woman I want to be, the type of woman who gives sacrificially for others, not to benefit herself.
My own mama is one of eleven (yes, eleven) children born in a rural farming community smack dab in the center of this great country. She has seven (yes, seven) sisters who live scattered across the country from Alaska to Oregon to Missouri, Arkansas, and Oklahoma (and none of those are the states in which their mother lived). And five years ago this summer, their aging parents couldn’t be at home alone any longer. My grandma’s dementia had worsened to the point where my grandpa couldn’t manage care for her himself any more, as he needed oxygen regularly and wasn’t preparing enough food to sustain them.
Now this post is not written to suggest that it isn’t an option, or even a good option, to use a facility such as a retirement home or assisted living facility for aging family members. Many, many loving families make this choice. And to be honest, I probably would have made that choice given the situation. But my grandpa was a sheep farmer and school custodian, and the monthly income from his social security check would not cover a facility such as these. But more than that, you must know that my grandfather was literally the most stubborn man on earth, and I can clear-as-a-bell remember him saying, on repeat, “I was born in {name of their small town} and I’ll die in {name of same small town].” And he was quite serious.
The Calendar
Despite my efforts to encourage them to update their technology, these sisters have had a hand-written and highlighted calendar with a care schedule for their aging parents that they’ve been scanning and e-mailing out monthly since 2015. 2015! They drove or flew many hours to stay in a house with crummy internet access and no cell service in a town with no gas station, with their mother who couldn’t remember their names and sang “When the Roll is Called Up Yonder” at the top of her lungs in the middle of the night and who needed to be helped to the bathroom every hour virtually around the clock.
They stayed with their father who insisted on fixing everything himself when his hands shook so badly he could hardly eat. They cared for him when he “charged” his oxygen tank on the radiator in the middle of the night in the bathroom when he got confused because his oxygen stats were so low. They slept on a lumpy old couch in the living room night after night because their parents’ bedroom was on the lower level and all the other rooms were upstairs. They changed adult diapers and sat at two-hour long breakfasts with the only conversation to be mustered about how nice the birds outside were looking. They bought Depends and diuretics and strawberry jelly (about the only thing their mother would eat towards the end of her life) and countless other expensive necessities with their own funds month after month because their parents couldn’t or didn’t.
Sacrifices
In short, they made sacrifices far beyond what I’ll ever know about. That’s what mothering is all about, right? We wipe butts and snot and feed helpless newborns and read the same story a hundred times in an hour and let our kids wear superman capes to the grocery store because they are so dang stubborn and we must choose our battles. We let them eat cookies for breakfast (only once in a while) because you only live once. They insist on fixing everything themselves but they just don’t have the fine motor skills; and they may talk about the birds, but instead of struggling to speak, they will not.shut.up. Instead of us following them to the bathroom, they follow us, refusing us a moment’s peace. But do you see the similarities?
Mothering little ones is hard, but we get a lot of glory. Yes, it’s a thankless job in a lot of ways, but we do get so many hugs and kisses. We get to take cute photos to post on Instagram of daughters in smocked dresses with big bows and little boys with chubby legs in their jon jons, giving their silliest grins for the camera. We get likes and comments about their cuteness and how we have beautiful children. We post funny stories or text our mamas or friends about the hilarious thing our little one just said. Our kids write us valentines and bring us (so, so many) art projects they made just for us. We get to see happy occasions like school programs, learning to read, a first date, and graduations. We get to anticipate the sense of accomplishment that comes from raising a responsible, respectful adult.
No Glory
So while caring for our littles is indeed hard, I can only imagine the difficulty in caring for aging parents. There aren’t cute pictures at holidays and it’s not as adorable when they say funny things that don’t make sense. Instead of trips to the zoo, the only trips are to the doctor and the pharmacy, and it’s really hard to put a grown adult in the shopping cart or stroller to get out for a stroll through Target to attempt to save some sanity. The glory isn’t there and the glamour is lacking. The future involves poor health and the unavoidable reality that death will come sooner or later. Death is normal and part of life, but it is sad and difficult, too.
Thank You
So to the women who care so faithfully for the old, the forgetful, the difficult, and the ill, thank you. To my mama and aunts who honored their aging parents and allowed them their dying wish, to stay home, despite the very high personal cost, thank you. Thanks for giving up your time to yourself, your time with your families, your resources, your jobs, your health, and your sanity to lay down your lives for someone who didn’t deserve it. Thank you for pointing me to Jesus, who laid down His life for me even though I didn’t deserve it. I am a better mother because of each of you and the example you have set.
