A marathon, a 5k and a 100-yard-dash

During most of my adulthood, it was my (younger) sister who lived closer to my parents and was the primary child who did the supporting and engaging. Both my (older) brother and I lived out of state and were busy with our lives. She was the one who went for holidays or visited most often. She had the longest run - about 40 years, though rarely intense on a daily or weekly basis.

She had the 'marathon' - the longest run.

Then almost five years ago, our family realized that Mom, now widowed, needed to move closer and get some help from one of us.  It seemed logical at the time for her to live near me, mostly because I live now where she raised her family, and she felt connected to the area.  So she came here. I've visited her daily or almost-daily for over four years now.

I have had the 5k run.  It's lasted a while.

But I'm tiring out, and I am wanting to do something else.  My husband is able to retire anytime, and we are planning a move to Peru to retire and volunteer.  Yet, I keep making laps on this track.  The same track, the same routine, the laps that seem endless. We keep thinking we're near the finish line - mom's own desire that her weary life ends - then she bounces back and we head around the loop for another lap.

Meantime, my husband waits in the stands.  He has had heart disease and a family history of cancer, and is five years older than me, and we are eager to go to our own next step in life. I am acutely aware of time passing, and that I want to get off the track and have the freedom to have our next (last?) adventure together.

Also, some changes will occur in my mother's financial resources in the springtime.  This is a good time to consider a change.

So, I have opened discussions with my sister and brother about what to do. They have both indicated a willingness to have her closer, though my brother (and especially his wife) have said they could have her in their home.  Their home is perfect (one story, broad hallways) and their location is warm (Albuquerque). It is perfect.  Plus, my sister's home with steps would make it impossible to have Mom in the home and my sister's advanced rheumatoid arthritis would make it impossible to have my sister help with wheelchair outings to doctors or restaurants. So ... we are thinking that the next step for Mom, assuming she survives, will be my brother's home.

Yet, while my brother was the golden child growing up, the beloved firstborn son, he may not be my mother's first choice as a caregiver. She assumes that one needs a uterus to be a nurturer.  My brother's wife is willing to adjust her work schedule, and she is funny and caring. Plus, hospice can continue helping with her care in their home. We kids are pretty concerned that Mom won't react well to this change, but we will be persuasive, and I really think she'll end up loving being so closely connected to family in her last weeks or months.

He may have the 100-yard-dash, the briefest but most intense run.

Each child will have had our own race, our own turn to be close to Mom.  Seems fair to me, and I'm ready.

Another year coming ... and going

Most of us welcome the chance to enjoy another year of life. We try to eat well, visit the doctor as needed, we exercise and fight for life. We take our vitamins. We greet our anniversaries with relief to have survived, and hope for another year. We resolve to do even better next year.

But, when someone is 91 years old and in lousy health, it's just not so fun anymore. She can't walk more than 10 steps (with her walker) without resting. She naps at least three times a day.

When I visited Mom today, she felt defeated and depressed. She has been hearing about Christmas on the television, and sees the oncoming holiday as a marking of yet another year when she has failed to die. She is weary, just bone-weary. Weary of life, weary of each day, each hour. Weary of the effort. And another holiday mocks her, reminds her of even more time passing as she yearns for her own end.

She said she figured out how she could speed her demise .... by not using her oxygen. She decided not to do that, but she thought about it. (Ethically - is that suicide? Or is it merely allowing a natural process to play out, while not availing herself of all possible remedies?  I wonder.) 

I found that she had done some water-colors over the last week.  She had used the cheap brushes, not the treasured old brushes she's had for years (the ones she clutched to her heart in gratitude, nearly weeping with joy, when I brought them back to her).  I asked why she wasn't using her good brushes, and she said it was just too much effort.  So she's using cheap WalMart brushes instead of reaching eight inches to open a plastic bag with some beautiful camel-hair brushes... just out of tiredness.

She and I hugged for a long time, a long and strong hug, her clutching me and clinging in desperation. In sadness.

As I said goodbye, I wondered whether this was the last time I'd see her alive. I wonder.