Night Watch

UPDATE: This morning when Mom woke up, she was chipper and her chest pain was gone. So … declining, but not dying — that’s what the nurse says. Still, I’ll be glad when Dad and Kathy (and her daughter Kaitlyn) get here, and Father has a chance to bless her. The weight of the decisions of caregiving can be heavy, and God knows how fallible I am. As caregivers, we can only make the best decisions we know in the moment, ready to adjust as new information becomes available. Right?

I had just pulled in from the Columbus Catholic Women’s Conference and prepared dinner for the boys. Then mom called and asked me to come see her. Her chest is hurting, it’s hard to breathe.

So now I’m sitting by her bed, trying to decide what to do and whether to call in the cavalry (my sister and father are scheduled to arrive Saturday). I don’t know why, exactly, but this visit feels different. Maybe it’s the way she is clutching my hand. Maybe it’s because she has been declining at a perceptibly more rapid rate lately.

She doesn’t walk. She can’t stand long. And (most telling) when I sing to her … she doesn’t sing along. She wants another chapter in her Bible. Another song. Five more minutes.

Mom has spent a lifetime getting ready to see Jesus. She is not perfect, and neither am I. But these past five years have been such a gift, and I feel like we understand one another. Her laugh, the gleam in her eye, the music in her heart. These are the things I cherish. Saying goodbye will be awful… but I am so grateful for all the hellos that have been ours for the taking.

Sleep well, Mom. I love you.