My mother is old. For some years now, I’ve been aware of the fact that she’s getting old. But now, we’ve passed the “getting” stage and gone straight to old.
It’s a complicated thing to deal with, and that very complication is what caught me by surprise. It’s not as if I didn’t know that it would happen, it’s the natural way of things, I get that. As I sometimes joke with her, being old is hard, but it’s fantastic – if you consider the alternative…
But the complex emotions that spun through my insides had nothing to do with logic. I felt like a toddler having a temper tantrum and screaming, “It’s not fair!” I felt like shaking my fists at the sky and fighting. I felt like crawling under my bed and sobbing until my tears dried up.
We’ve always been close – we would have liked each other even if we weren’t family. So, I became irritable when I first noticed that she wasn’t keeping up. It’s a horrible thing to admit, but it was all based on fear. The terrible fear of losing her. I was staring her mortality right in the face and it petrified me!
I wanted her to just be her old self. I wanted her to be sharp, brave and fearless – like she’d always been. I wanted to be able to pour my heart out to her, crawl in behind her back and be her little girl so that she could fix everything. And I poked and prodded and harassed her in a vain effort to go back to the way things were.
Then – and I honestly can’t say whether it was a sudden epiphany or a gradual shift – things changed. I became patient. If you know me, you will understand what a huge thing that is! But, I really did. The impatience washed off me and was replaced by an unexpected gratitude. That made all the difference!
Whenever I felt the frustration rise, I would consciously put a smile on my face. I pretended that I was playing the game we played when I was little. If I was grumpy, she would slowly and gently move her hand over my face as if to magically wipe away the sulk. Strangely, it always worked. Maybe it was the absurdity of it all, but it always ended up in giggles. For a while, it took some effort, but then I realised how much better we both felt when I softened my reactions. So, I kept doing it until it became the default.
Now, we are having date nights, laughing, watching movies, drinking wine and dancing. We talk about parts of her life that didn’t include me, about the hopes and dreams of her younger self – even the ones she didn’t realise. We share our fears. We talk openly about what is coming and we cry a little bit together. Because now I know that I’d rather spend the time we have left together in a good mood.
I savour every second I have with her, even when I’m picking up after her or doing little menial things she can’t do anymore. Because now, I understand what a privilege it is to be able to do them. I make time for her, for the fun stuff and the dull stuff.
Don’t wait! Spend the time. Go on shopping trips that can – quite frankly – be exhausting. Be kind, be patient. Think about it this way: If it’s frustrating for you, imagine how annoying it must be for your parent! They don’t want to be a burden. They also want to be the vivacious, independent person they once were, but they can’t. It’s not going to get better. They are not Benjamin Button.
I gathered up the courage and made time to have the courageous conversations with her about when she is no longer here, what her wishes are for her funeral and helping her to get all her affairs in order. Doing so brought a tremendous sense of relief to both of us and allowed us to look ahead with renewed confidence and peace of mind.
It’s not all moonshine, glitter and unicorns. The feelings are still there, still complicated, but they are gentler. I love her so much! I always have. The difference is that I’ve decided to show her in every moment and in everything I do and say.
