A Noble Daughter
For my mother and all those who lay down their lives in this costly and crucial calling: May God bless the work of your hands.
"Many daughters have done nobly, but you excel them all" (Proverbs 31:29).
Recently I addressed a blog post to the beautiful mothers who serve in the trenches with young children. In this post I want to highlight women who mother on the other end of the spectrum. Those who toil daily to care for elderly parents.
At 91 and almost 93 years old respectively, my grandparents need lots of help. Grandmommie has dementia. She cannot reason or remember. She is losing the ability to do simple self-care tasks. Granddaddy doesn't suffer from dementia, but he is forgetful and often disengages. His diminutive form belies the existence of his previously robust lifestyle. They are both weak, feeble and supplemental oxygen dependent.
Mom takes care of her parents. She didn't wake up one morning and decide to take over. This has come about gradually. Slowly she eased their burdens. Slowly she stepped up as they were no longer able to step out. A little more responsibility here and a lot more serving there. Providing meals when they were no longer able to cook. Handing out the hard news that driving was no longer an option. Keeping up with paperwork and pills and blood pressure and bills. Physicians visits, hospital stays and rehab stints seem as common as the common cold. And she somehow pulls it off with compassion and sensitivity--always mindful of the discomfort of their diminishing independence.
Mom stays tired. Caretaking is a physically demanding job. Instead of the energy needed to handle a baby or toddler, this mothering requires attending to a couple of full grown, frail adults. In addition to the sheer strength involved, there is always the weight of the never-ending, never easy decisions. Are Granddaddy and Grandmommie safe? Are they eating enough? Do they need medical attention? Mom is the one in charge now. The buck stops with her. That exacts a physical and emotional toll. Then add in the normal grieving of losing parents little by little--witnessing the inevitable, ebbing strength and deteriorating mind. All that amounts to an exhaustion level that wavers between wiped out and bone weary. Mom needs rest in every way. But her days are not her own. Not a single one. She shows up over and over, performing her labor of love. Gracefully. For years.
As a child you see your mother with dependent eyes. She is nurturing, loving, the one you want near when you are sick or hurt. As an adult you see her interacting with your children and you love and appreciate her all the more. But you are busy with your little ones and your view is still limited. Later, you begin to see her through others' eyes. You realize she is loyal, dependable, and winsome as a friend. She is gracious and wise and well sought out. You value her companionship and guidance. Finally, when your grandparents grow old, you discern her virtue as a daughter.
For my mother and all those who lay down their lives in this costly and crucial calling: May God bless the work of your hands.
Happy birthday Mom. I've always known you're an amazing mother. Now I also know that you're an amazing daughter. I love you.
“Many daughters have done nobly, but you excel them all.”
