In addition to our regular Friday/Sunday visits with Dad to go see Mom, Melinda and I have added some individual visits when possible. Every minute spent with her is precious. On good days or bad ones, it is a sacred space to just be with her. I sit beside her bed and hold her hand or rub her arm. She looks at me in confusion sometimes and with a smile at others.
I carry a book with me; one of the many I have inherited from her bookshelves during the downsizing. All of them are marked with sticky notes and highlighted like Easter eggs. Her voice whispers to me as I read the handwritten notes in the margins. But this particular book stands out among the others, which is saying something.
Nearly every page has some notation on it. It is titled Praying the Psalms. Written in a more modern-day language it reads almost like a conversation. Yet the wisdom contained on its pages is ancient. I remember this as one of mom’s favorites. It used to sit beside her prayer chair, which now resides at my house, along with the pictures of every child and grandchild, for whom she uttered these prayers daily.
I walk into her room in hopes that she will recognize her book, and know that I am now praying for her as she has always done for me. I hold it up and tell her this is one of her favorite books. I show her the multicolored-well-worn pages. I tell her she must have thought this was very important to have made so many markings in it. She smiles, I’m not sure if she understands or not. Then, I read it to her. She stares off, not seeing, but I think she hears. Sometimes she turns her head and looks at me while I read. Other times she sleeps, snoring loudly. I don’t mind.
I don’t always read to her. Once, I just looked at her. She held my gaze. We stared at each other for a long magical moment. I could see her in there, behind the orbs in the sockets, really see HER. I think she saw me too. It was beyond words. I did not look away and she did not look past me as she sometimes does. She had an intensity in her eyes I haven’t seen in a long time. It was like she thought that if she stared long enough I could understand her thoughts. And I kind of did, through my tears. I let her see them fall. I am not backing away from the pain or sorrow. I am with her in the midst of it and I am not going anywhere.
After a long moment, I told her I love her and that everything here is going to be okay. Not to worry about anything. Just to do what she needs to do. She said, “ok” as if she understood me. Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t, but it felt holy to me. Her eyes faded back to looking past and through, still looking but no longer seeing me. I went back to rubbing her arm.
When she is present I relish the moments, but even when she is not visibly with me in the room, I am still soaking up our time together. I know a time is soon coming when she will be sleeping and no longer be able to “communicate” with her smile and eyes. I don’t know when that time will be but I know it is getting closer. We will cross that bridge when we get to it. Until then, I will soak up every moment with mom… I will carve out time to sit with her…to read to her…to stare at her…to be…with her.
Michelle's Mosaic 
Praying for you all, daily, Michelle. I understand your feelings. I have been down this journey with my dad. Six long years. One of us was with him every day, my mother the most, at the beginning spending the entire day with him. As the disease progressed it was so special when he could still really see us. He would sometimes squeeze my hand. We knew at times that he heard and understood us by his expression. I would sing his favorite hymns, read scriptures from the Bible that he loved and stories from the current Reader’s Digest, which he always read from cover to cover each month before the disease took over.
God will give you the strength to keep going and get to the other side. I am a witness to that truth.
In Love, Julie
This is just beautiful Michelle.. You are so sweet
A focused glance, a dimpled smile. Thank you, Michelle, for this photo of a lovely friend who shared many spiritual moments with her friends, on the mountain at Cloudwood. That book is a treasure!
Michelle, I work as a nurse in an assisted living facility which, more often than I expected, becomes sweet hospice rooms. Sometimes that lasts for a few days, sometimes weeks or months. But every one becomes holy space, most especially for those who have walked full lives of faithfulness with their Maker. You are wise to treasure these moments, to read, to sing, to pray, to gaze, to relish, to hold and caress, kiss and hug, to laugh. Yes, to cry. You are doing great! As is your dad, your family. I know these days aren’t easy, but you are walking them out beautifully, recording them in a way that encourages the rest of us out here in whatever ‘hard’ we are currently walking through. Keep on keeping on. God sees, He knows. His love emanates from your mom’s room, from your visits. Your visits are witness in that entire facility of a love more powerful than any earthly suffering….a love not of this world, but straight from the heart of the Father. Praying for you from Tennessee, dear sister.
Thank you! For reading, but also for your job. It is a hard one when all your patients die while in your care. It takes a special person to be able to do what you do. We have several who care for mom so very well. It is a special calling.