I’m writing this blog post from Beth Page, Tennessee. It’s beautiful country out here. It’s a landscape of rolling hills, small streams, colorful flowers, tall trees, and real wildlife. I didn’t really understand why my mother moved here after grandma died. I thought she would move close to either my sister or I, as we both have children. I thought she wanted to be a grandmother herself. Instead, she moved to Tennessee, to live alone, out in the country. She moved there to die. Not in the literal sense, but rather she wanted to spend her last years on earth in a peaceful place, not far from where she grew up. A place still locked in a 1950’s time warp. A place full of memories from a time when life was simple, and care free. She was looking for a release from the stress of being in a bad ten year marriage, and watching her mother die over the last three years.
I left my contract job with Dell in Round Rock, TX because my mother was diagnosed with Breast Cancer. She goes in for surgery on the 23rd of December, the day before Christmas. She already lost a part of her right breast two weeks ago. This time they will be removing one of her lymph nodes, and injecting a die to see the extent of the cancers growth and where it has spread too. The surgery is open ended. They have a target, but will remove anything they find while she is under. This means we have no way of knowing the extent of the surgery, or what her recovery time will be. She has been told that regardless of the outcome, she will have to undergo chemo and radiation treatment.
I’m here to spend some quality time with my mother before the surgery, and to act as her care giver afterward. I will have to take care of her and her animals as she will not have the use of at least one of her arms. I’m glad to be able to spend this time with her, but at the same time I’m also sad because I will be missing x-mas and my daughter’s birthday. I don’t even know how to explain to Isabel, who will be four, why her daddy won’t be at her birthday party…
How much disappointment can a person take before they give up all hope? I was asking myself that as this year I have lost my grandmother, my dog, my job, my home, and now the prospect of losing my mother… Things aren’t good on the home front either. The financial and emotional distress that has accompanied all this loss has taken its toll on my marriage. The future isn’t looking very bright. I find it difficult to sleep at night, and I wonder if fate is just testing me or simply kicking me when I’m down.
I walk with my mother across a wide field leading to an out cropping of trees. As I hold her hand, she points out birds, and parts of nature that a city dweller like me might miss. My mother is strong. Stronger than me it seems. At 65 she has come to know a peace that I have a hard time putting into words. I try to quiet my mind as I feel an urgency to “get things done”, to be working on some project, or lining up the next phase of my life. I realize that I have lost my ability to relax. Here I am surrounded by majesty and I can’t turn off the part of my mind that is always moving forward. I want to make lists, plan for contingencies, cover all my bases…
We went to the goodwill store today. She dropped off some items, and I picked up some books. We had dinner for breakfast, and breakfast for dinner. Even though it was less than 40 degrees out, we had ice cream and laughed about old times. We watched TV and I got her into “The Tudors”. We walked in the woods and across the fields collecting brown plants, and grasses for a vase on the table. We drank hot chocolate. We took pictures of cows and horses, and went exploring in old barns. We visited a farmer for some fresh eggs. We drove around the countryside and visited old churches and cemeteries. We ate pizza.
I don’t know what the future holds, but I can tell you that I made the right decision leaving my comfort zone to spend this time with my mother. This is priceless time; no amount of money can buy. For me, I believe I was given this opportunity to learn to relax, and take things one day at a time. And as for my mother, no matter what happens, she is home… at last.
