Time with Mom

I haven’t posted for awhile because I’ve been spending a lot of time in the ICU at Columbia Presbyterian Hospital in New York, and writing updates about my mom’s condition to family and friends every few days. However, I’d like to share some reflections I’ve had in light of the past nine weeks, and her now quite serious condition.

There is no doubt that my experience during these past few months would have been much different had I not had this sabbatical year. The biggest lesson I’ve learned is to be in the present moment. We’ve been on a roller-coaster ride: one day mom’s looking better and we’re feeling positive, and the next day, her condition worsens. We learned not to get too optimistic—or too pessimistic. It is most important to be with mom no matter what the numbers say, to be there FOR her, and interact as best we can.

A few weeks ago, we were told mom was terminal, only to see within two days she had miraculously rallied. There is no script, only working closely with experienced and compassionate doctors and nurses who are doing their best to monitor mom’s condition and guide us as best they can. But in the end, mom’s fate is unknown. Instead of feeling powerless, I feel grateful for the small victories, like the day we didn’t know if she was lucid and she blew me a kiss and touched my cheek. My hope is that I can reassure her and coax her to be brave; that her body can recover—perhaps not fully—but enough to enjoy life with her loved ones for some period of time.

In some ways, I can see how many of my life experiences have prepared me for dealing with the practical aspects of what I’ve been through. I’m comfortable in a hospital because of the summer I volunteered at Memorial Sloan Kettering as a 19-year-old, taking a library cart around the pediatric ward. I have some sense of the healthcare system from working at a benefits consulting firm. And I have an appreciation for caring for sick elders in my role as a volunteer and board member of a rehabilitation and long-term nursing facility. These experiences have helped me in understanding mom’s care and in developing relationships with a wide range of medical personnel.

And as good as this preparation has been, I’ve come to realize that there is no way to prepare for seeing a loved one have two life-threatening surgeries, three bouts of pneumonia, the zoster virus, as well as two collapsed lungs and a tracheostomy. With the support of my brother, sister and father, I have been strong enough to be there with her through these horrific events, in the trenches, day in and day out. At the same time, on a different plane, I know this is her path and mine as well. There is a reason we are doing this dance through life together, and there is much to learn.

Much of the time, I feel calm and centered as I go through each day, firmly believing in a higher power. Once a day, I allow the tears to flow, if they are there. My mother is beloved by so many people, and I agree it’s not fair what has happened to her. But it’s not about fair. I cannot know why, now or perhaps ever. It simply is what it is, and all I can do is be in the moment, take in my mother’s essence, and truly absorb it so that it is with me forever.