A Loving Communication from an Unexpected Fortunate Timing
November 2023 Issue
Inspirations for Better Living
The crisp, cool air of a sunny November morning relaxes my thoughts, pushes aside the hint of regret found in past reflections, and shines a hopeful light onto creating new memories before time runs out—the holiday season approaches.
Plastic tubs carry autumn decorations filled with an appreciation for nostalgia and the promise of good times to come. Alongside the plaque urging me to be thankful, I unpack the lengthy relationship between Mom and me and see progress up, down, and around the usual peaks and valleys experienced by most mothers and daughters. We have survived the harshness of temper tantrums, the blood and tears of scraped knees, the aftermath of kitchen disasters and accomplishments, the tears of joy and loss, and loads of grateful hugs. Our history together represents the continual evolution of identity for her, me, and us. Below are excerpts from my book, Walking Old Roads: A Memoir of Kindness Rediscovered, that best reflect Mom and my connection, which has beautifully evolved into a loving and unexpected benefit that nurtures our relationship beyond my imagination.
“Hello, kid!” Mom rises from her favorite recliner, straightening her shirt as she greets my entrance through the door left unlocked for me. “I brought you some Italian meatball soup I fixed for supper last night.” I am happy to see her back to her energetic self once again. “Oh, that sounds good. Just put it in the fridge wherever you can find a space.” The smile on her wrinkled face is one of the few weapons able to crack through my cynical temperament.
I do as she instructs without voicing my concern over the sugary drinks and pudding cups I see resting on the shelves inside a diabetic’s refrigerator. Mom and I are knee-deep in the inevitable swapping-of-roles segment of life, switching places as we reminisce about favorite memories, travel together to doctor appointments, and discuss how to operate modern technology. Unconditional love includes repeated tutorials on navigating the internet and accessing voicemail messages from a cell phone. Helping her while not stepping on the toes of her independence is tricky at times.
“What are we doing today?” The sincerity of her enthusiastic inquiry sets an expectation I hope I can live up to. “I was thinking we could start sorting through your boxes of photographs. I think it could help me find story topics for my writing projects. What do you think about the idea?”
“Oh my, those boxes are a mess. Are you sure you want to work that hard?” She chuckles on the way to the closet to clear a path to the boxes. She has already answered the question.
Becoming a parent’s parent sneaks up on you even when you know it is coming. For us, it was gradual until Dad’s death thrust Mom into living alone for the first time in her entire life.
Published in the November edition of Inspirations for Better Living.
