The brain is an incredible organism. It is constantly growing and dying. I’m not a scientist and this is not a scientific article. I have learned a lot about the brain and its functioning or nonfunctioning. Not because I desire to become a scientist. I only desire to do the best I can for one other person: My mother.
Many of you may know Mom. When we moved to Clarkesville in 1977, my mother was active in the Homemaker’s Club, in the WMU at Bethlehem Baptist Church, and serving with my dad in the Gideons. I was her main job. We moved from the lovely city of Duluth, Minnesota, and I missed my friends and had a hard time fitting in. My older siblings were in college and starting their lives as young adults so Mom focused her attention on her very stubborn, cantankerous youngest child.
I wish I remembered more about who Mom was back then. As a pre-teen and teenager, I was so self-absorbed that I only remember the conflicts. She hit menopause as I hit puberty so life was pretty exciting. She was determined to mold and shape me into a worthwhile citizen. We fought over so many things – piano practice, homework, boys. After my 10th grade year, she (and Dad) gave me an amazing, self-less gift by sending me away to a private school of the arts in Winston-Salem, NC. And just like that, I didn’t live with her anymore.
I’ll spare the details of the next 17 years but God eventually called me and my new family back to Clarkesville. I had graduated twice, married once, and given birth thrice. All through those years, Mom served her community, loved on her children and grandchildren, and was the bulwark for so many friends. Mom and I shared a love of music and children and family. Dad had retired from real estate so I was able to observe their relationship on a daily basis. I was amazed at how they loved each other.
Somewhere in 2003-2004 there were subtle changes that only became clear in hindsight. Her bones were too porous. There was the fractured clavicle, the cracked sternum, and then the spine cracked. Over a period of years, her bones struggled to stay together. Then somewhere in 2007, her mind started to come unglued.
As it became clear that Mom shouldn’t be left alone, I arranged my schedule to include weekly times to allow Dad alone time. For several years, it was just the two of us caring for Mom, with Dad doing the lion’s share. During that time, Mom was still comfortable going out to shop or to church. Then, somewhere, imperceptivity, it shifted.
It’s been several years since I started spending my Mondays with Mom. I’ve joked that I would one day write a book that would rival the story of “Tuesdays with Morrie”. Although our schedule is Mondays plus a few Friday afternoons and a couple of weekends, I treasure these moments.
For some readers, this story may not connect with your life. For others, it may be exactly where you are. This is for you. You are not alone. Although our caregiving may leave us isolated, know that we are walking a parallel road and we can connect here. This is a precious time – one we will remember with gratitude.
If you would like to share your story of caregiving, please contact Donna James at [email protected].
