By Patricia St. Clair
In returning back to the sight in which I felt the
piercing of an arrow in my heart, I hasten to add that I’ve
not been exposed to many family gatherings since the passing
of my mother. Obviously I’ve chosen to avoid them
consciously, rather than submit to heart-tugging scenes
which would not only ruin the occasion for me, but could
possibly effect whoever else was in attendance. No one
deserves to sacrifice a warm and fuzzy moment with a family
member because of a woman who becomes slightly deranged due
to a deep emotional loss in her own family.
Today, I made an exception. I chose to accompany my
husband to this festive occasion during the holiday season,
and was welcomed unconditionally by members of his very
loving family. But as they say, nothing lasts forever. From
my perch in my cocoon on the sofa, I observed a woman of my
age - 50ish and very effervescent - walk behind her mother
and gently lay a hand on her mother’s shoulder. Such a
minimal effort for such a huge statement. The daughter
continued to speak to a small group of people who had
gathered behind her mother’s chair, but the hand remained on
the shoulder. No words were exchanged between the two women,
but then none had to be. And in a flash, I was taken back in
time to the days when I would have made such a gesture to my
mother. The last few years seemed to disappear as I actually
felt my mother’s presence in that warm, love-filled room.
Before much time passed, as I continued to observe mother
and daughter, I witnessed the exact same thing occur between
my hostess and her sister, both of whom are indeed over the
65-year old range. Although they live an hour’s distance
from one another, and although both have suffered
life-altering illnesses within the past several years, they
easily reach out to touch each other whenever they are in
close proximity. Loving touches. Hands that reach. Silence
is, as they say, golden. During these moments, actions speak
volumes.
I retreated into my own thoughts at this point, no longer
noticing those near me. Memories flooded my heart, and
although I was thankful to be amid such a warm and
spontaneously loving group of people, I knew I had to deal
with “me” at that point. I had been a caregiver for my
mother for much of my adult life, even as she remained in
her own home and continued (on a limited basis due to
multiple eye problems) to drive locally. Her last 6 months
were spent as a resident in my home, however, and it was
during that span of time that I learned what the meaning of
“caregiver” truly was. I couldn’t walk away if her
inabilities irritated me. I couldn’t slam the door and jump
in the car if her forgetfulness got the best of my
usually-patient nature. This was a 24/7 responsibility, and
remained as such until she drew her last breath lying in my
arms.
Printable Version
