I wish every Mother a very Happy Mother’s Day, including those without children who mother other children!  Below is another different reflection, but written out of the blessing from within life’s difficult reality.  Nor is it my very first poem, but close enough. It was written at an extremely difficult and stressful time in my life after my mother had a stroke on Christmas Day 2011.

My mother was different. As I grew up, we didn’t get along well, and that continued as I raised my own family. I envied friends whose mothers talked easily with their kids, were involved in their lives, and who enjoyed doing fun things with their family. Growing up, I picked up on little cues from those who didn’t seem to like her or made fun of her in subtle and, sometimes, not-so-subtle ways.  She was mocked and belittled.  She was beaten up, twice, by the same hand that physically lashed out at me but not my sister. I hurt for her, and didn’t understand what was wrong...

She was always “there” with us, but I/we couldn’t talk with her. She didn’t play with us as kids; but, then, neither did her mother, who had been involved with raising, feeding and clothing 12 children, feeding groups of farmers as they all went around helping each other with crops and butchering animals for food, growing a huge garden, helping with farm chores for a large dairy and several thousand chickens – all without running water until a year or so before my mother was born.

My mother was distant, not someone I could share my heart with, confide in, or seek help from for my problems.  Simply put, I felt she was not a good mother.  And, as the oldest of six, I dreaded the day when I would have to “take care of her,” especially after my dad left and remarried.

The call came the evening of Christmas Day 2011.  It was my mother.  I could barely understand a word she said, her speech was so garbled, but I managed to make out, “…stroke… need help…”  That sent a shockwave of fear and sadness through my heart.  Oh no!  My poor mother!  But, what do I do?  I’m ashamed to say it, but I wanted to turn around and find someplace to hide.  Why did I have to be the oldest child?  Why did I have to feel so responsible for everyone and everything, always?  Suddenly, I felt very alone.  The time had come for me to take care of my mother, and I was not prepared. 

Thank God for her sister, my Aunt Lois.  I contacted her and she willingly offered to go with me to visit my mother in the hospital and later the nursing home in Rochester, nearly three hours away.  A city… that alone struck fear in my heart – I don’t like driving in cities.  During our trips to and from Rochester, Aunt Lois and I had some great talks, a time of sharing and understanding.  My mother is the 11^th child in an old-fashioned farm family, while Aunt Lois is the youngest.  They were aunts to nieces about the same ages they were.  I don’t even know all my relatives! 

Visiting my mother brought me up short to the realities of life.  As a medical transcriptionist, I saw this all the time in my work – folks are fine one minute, but the next minute their life is altered by a sudden change in health.  My mother, at 78, still worked as a part-time toll collector on the thruway.  Not only was her life suddenly and unexpectedly changed from being active to being an invalid, but my life was in the process of being totally turned upside down, too.

Over the years I had asked my mother to let me know where she lived – “Yeah, I’ll send you directions,” she’d say, but she never did.  I’d asked her to make a list of important papers, where she did her banking, etc., just in case something ever happened – “Yeah, I’ll write it down,” she’d say, but she never did.

Now, something had happened, and I was forced to take charge of her affairs with no clue of where or how to begin.  I signed papers to be her Power of Attorney and Health Care Proxy.  But I had no idea about what to do!  I didn’t even know where she lived!  I felt so utterly overwhelmed.  I already had so much on my plate caring for my husband with his blindness and multitude of health issues, working full time from 3-11 a.m. at a hospital, and taking my husband nearly every afternoon of every week for so many years to so many medical appointments, plus taking care of most all household chores.  I literally wanted to turn around and walk (no, run) away from everything I faced… but I knew that was not an option.  I felt so helpless.

And so I prayed.  And a poem, a desperate plea really, wrote itself in my mind and it became my prayer to God, over and over:

Though I may weaken and crumble

Beneath the strain of stress,

Be there, Lord, to guide me safe

O’er crashing waters near.

Be my tower of mighty strength

Firm and strong to lean upon.

When I think impossible

Help me take that other step.

Aunt Lois helped me find my mother’s apartment and van.  The neighbor ladies shared they’d heard my mother’s calls for help and saw her fingers poking out from under the door.  My mother managed to reach her keys and pushed them under the door so the ladies could unlock it.  They found her sprawled on the floor, unable to get up.  She absolutely refused to let them call an ambulance to take her to the hospital; all they could do was help her back to bed.  They apologized to me that they hadn’t called an ambulance anyway, but I reassured them I was not blaming them.  This was out of their hands; my mother had vehemently refused their assistance, even though they should have called an ambulance anyway.  But I was not into blaming.  The next day, Christmas Day, my mother knew something was terribly wrong and had called the ambulance herself.

I scheduled more time off from work to spend a few days with my friend, Sue, now living in Rochester, who willingly offered to help me start taking care of my mother’s affairs.  She, too, was a blessing from God.  She knew just what to do, and kept me calm!  She helped me find the banks my mother used, and establish my Power of Attorney with them so I could take care of the necessaries.

On returning to my mother’s apartment and opening the door, I was shocked at what I saw as reality sank in.  Actually, I was ashamed and angry!  “How could she live like this!” I cried.  She was a hoarder.  There was a narrow path through the debris of her life scattered around the apartment.  I knew what her van looked like inside over the years, but had no idea her apartment was this bad, too!  Tears rolled, and hugs were given as Aunt Lois and her daughter, Donna, joined me and Sue to help with the cleanup.  With their sense of humor, they kept my head above water with laughter as we spent hours sorting through every piece of mail, every box, and every bag of stuff to keep or toss.  And, unfortunately, a lot of her life had to be tossed.  I simply had no room at my home.

Then, another friend, Elaine, a retired legal secretary, willingly came alongside to assist.  She helped me clean out the van, and sort through the stash of important papers we’d found strewn around the apartment and van.  With a small filing box and file folders, she organized the papers by labeling and sorting.  In my frustration, I made the comment about the unbelievable mess, especially after finding papers that she had not one, but two, storage units full of more stuff that needed to be cleaned out!  In her gentle way, Elaine reminded me of what the doctor had said, “Your mother has been mentally ill for a long time.  That is why she was a hoarder and lived the way she did.” 

Elaine’s comment hit me hard emotionally, but they were words I needed to hear.  I was so overwhelmed at having to blindly pick up the pieces of my mother’s life that I hadn’t seen what was obvious to the doctor and others – she really had been mentally ill for many years, if not her whole life.  That’s why we and others thought she was odd.  That’s why she couldn’t relate to us kids.  Now, after being properly diagnosed by her physicians, and being put on medication, she’s so much better emotionally.  With Elaine’s gentle comment, I finally came to terms with, and understood, my mother’s emotional fragility, and thanked Elaine for the awakening in my heart.  I came to understand that my Mom had lost her husband and her children to divorce, and all her stuff was the balance of what she could control by desperately holding onto it all.

Through the difficulty of picking up the pieces of my mother’s life, sorting blindly through her affairs that I’d known nothing about, making a ton of phone calls to her employer and banks, etc., getting her into my first-choice nursing home near me, filling out the application and gathering copies necessary for the massive Medicaid application process, and handling several legal judgments and subpoenas against her for debts, God was with me every step of the way.  He answered my desperate plea more abundantly than I ever expected! 

Every time I felt utterly overwhelmed, God put someone there to walk with me, guide me, and help me over each new hurdle.  Even to the card which arrived from my daughter-in-law’s mother, MaryEllen, on the very day I got the letter from the department of social services with its overwhelming huge list of requirements for the Medicaid process, some of which we never did find and which DSS granted a special waiver with understanding, and then to having Elaine’s experience guide me through it.  And I must give special thanks to my husband, Edward, who has been here every step of the way, supporting me and guiding me with his quiet words of wisdom while being unable to help physically.

In visiting with my mother at the nursing home, our relationship has grown. So, I decided to do something special for her – to make a quilt.  Since I was a teen, I’ve loved to sew clothes and quilts for myself and family, but hadn’t made time to sew in ages.  Around this time, I’d made Ed and myself each a log cabin design quilt using our old jeans, followed by a quilt for each grandchild.  On asking my mother what her favorite color was, she replied, “I don’t know.  I never had a favorite color.”  I felt a stab to my heart.  How could someone not have a favorite color?  So, I decided that since she was a September baby, I’d use shades of sage green and golden browns.  Making her quilt was a labor of love and I couldn’t wait to give it to her that upcoming Easter Sunday.  And she absolutely loved it! 

But, you know what else special happened?  On our walk one evening back then, Ed told me I’d begun calling her “Mom” - she wasn’t just “my mother” anymore!  God used her stroke to work a miracle in my heart, and I have come to love the Mom that He blessed me with!  And God has given me one more blessing in the aftermath.  My Dad, who had walked away from me for a time, began corresponding with me again after I sent a Christmas card.  He even voiced approval for how well I’d handled every difficulty in life that was tossed my way, including a compliment on how well I was taking care of my mother. And, when I broke the ice by saying words I don’t recall ever hearing while growing up, Dad and Mom both responded by saying “I love you” every time we talked!  Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!  I love you!  (Photo above of my Mom holding me, her first precious baby.)

Be My Tower

Linda A. Roorda

Though I may weaken and crumble

Beneath the strain of stress,

Be there, Lord, to guide me safe

O’er crashing waters nigh.

Be my tower of mighty strength

Firm and strong to lean upon.

When I think “impossible,”

Help me take that other step.

~

12/31/11