I took a long flight this week, out to Seattle to see Mom, who is on hospice care at home. The trip seemed to take forever, but that's the way I experience time. I traveled well-stocked with iPod and reading material, drank only water, and, starting with chicken soup bought in the terminal, ate constantly, strolling back to the galley several times to restock on chocolate chip cookies and counter the possibility of deep vein thrombosis developing because of sitting too long.
It has been wonderful to see her and there have been two very touching moments with her. The first night I was here she choked up while we were talking in her bedroom and began to cry a little as she said, "I wasn't sure I'd see you again." And then yesterday she asked me to take my afternoon rest -- a daily nap is becoming a wonderful restorative -- on the couch instead of the bedroom just so she could watch me. You'd have to be a stone not to melt. It seems that even if you are 89, in your own long, slow decline, you always stay first a Mom.
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2 comments:
You made me cry.
You made me cry.
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