Happy Mother's Day

Especially to mine.  I really lucked out in that department.

Love you, Mom!

Location: Berchtesgaden, Germany
Photo credit: my dad

I try to keep the posts on here predominantly visual (a picture's worth a thousand words or something), but in honor of mother's day I'm switching things up and sharing a story about my own incredible mom.

...

When I was in middle school, I had a friend named Clay.  Prior to our first meeting, I remember my mom maneuvering our family's black suburban around those windy upstate New York roads.  She told me that I'd meet Clay, that he loved the beach and that he used to make his living as an automechanic.  She told me that he lived alone, having divorced his wife years prior and that he had a son older than me that he didn't see too much.  She told me he'd need a lot of help with things when we were there.  She told me not to be nervous or afraid when I met him and then she told me about his disease.

Clay had amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS), more commonly known as Lou Gherig's disease.  ALS is one of three types of motor neuron disease, affecting both the upper and lower motor neurons.  Basically, his neurons - those little transmitters in your brain that signal your muscles to move - were slowly deteriorating.  Without receiving the signal to move, his muscles were atrophying and he was growing weaker.  His condition had gradually gotten worse until he could no longer take care of himself and a hospice nurse had to be called in: enter my mom.

I knew very little about my mom's job at that time.  Yes, I knew that she was a nurse, that she worked in home healthcare and I knew that the people she cared for were nearing the end of their lives.  Aside from funny little daily details that she shared at the dinner table, I didn't understand what her job really entailed.  Clay was the first and only patient she ever took me to visit.

His apartment was small.  It boasted a little kitchenette to the right of the entrance and a living area just big enough for a bed, a recliner and a television.  The dark, wood-faced walls reflected little light from the three windows on the right side.  Clay sat in his recliner, two other men kicked back on the bed facing the television.  His two friends were loud and their laughter ricocheted off the ceiling, filling the room.

"Hiya, Debbie!" They said as my mom placed her bag on the counter of the kitchenette.  She smiled as she greeted them by name, and she turned to Clay and told him she brought a visitor.

"This is my Jackie.  She's my baby."  She always introduces me like that, and it always makes me smile.  It also receives similar reactions from whomever she introduces me to, mainly due to the fact that my mom is five foot four, and I am just shy of five-eleven.

The visiting men responded with a chorus of greetings and praise and, "well, Deb, she looks just like you!"  Clay smiled and said a quiet but friendly "hi there."

The men left after a few minutes and my mom went about her work.  As she moved him and medicated him and chattered away, I sat on a small chair nearby.  "Jackie, tell Clay about school." She said.  So I told him.  Clay listened quietly with a half smile on his face and friendly eyes as I detailed my school days.  When I ran out of school talk, I continued on about my pets at home and my sisters and anything else that came to mind.  I just kept talking.  Clay made quiet sounds of acknowledgment and his eyes smiled back at me.  After about an hour, it was time for us to leave.

"It was nice to meet you, Jackie," he said slowly, and then to my mom, "Debbie, you've got a beautiful girl there.  Right pretty smile."

My mom took me back to visit Clay on occasion.  She said it brightened his days.  Sometimes I'd sit and chat away and other times I'd quietly listen to his friends talking about some crazy story or another from the past.  Once, I perused the greeting card store next door and found the most beautiful card for my sister - one she still carries with her to this day.

One afternoon, as I spun from side to side atop one of Clay's kitchen stools, something caught my eye.  "Mom, what's that bucket of sand over there for?"  Mom looked excited as she dragged it out from behind the television to the foot of Clay's chair.

"What do you say, Clay?  Want to go to the beach?"  She said with a sparkle in her eye.  Clay looked so pleased as she took his socks and shoes off and placed his feet into the sand.  She looked back at me.  "Cool, huh?"

Clay smiled and slowly looked up at me, "Your mom sure is somethin' else."

After that, I started to notice other touches of my mom's thoughtful creativity spreading throughout Clay's apartment - a beach towel draped over his chair, a palm tree behind his TV.  She found a bunch of car calendars in a box in his closet and spent one afternoon covering one of the dark wooden walls with the bright pictures of his favorite cars.  The effect of my mom's work was apparent in Clay, and even in his friends.  They all lit up whenever she walked in.  Their gratitude was so apparent - it was inspiring.

The deterioration of his neurons eventually affected his ability to swallow and then later impaired his respiratory functions until he passed away just a few months after I met him.  I cried for him when my mom told me and I wondered how she stayed so optimistic with all of her patients - how she never ceased to go above and beyond, knowing what was just around the corner.

The answer is simple.  My mom is the most generous, selfless person I have ever encountered.  She is amazingly empathetic.  My mom is the type of person that will set aside her own inevitable grief in order to brighten the last few months of a person's life.  She's the type of person who takes dark drab walls and fills them with color.  And, after a long work day of fulfilling the demands of nursing, when the last thing most people want to do before going home and collapsing on the couch is to stop at the supermarket to pick up the ingredients for their kids' favorite home-cooked meal, she's the type of person to do that, and on top of that, she thinks to grab a bag of sand and a palm tree - on her dollar - knowing it will bring a smile to a man who doesn't have much to smile about anymore.