Yesterday I went with them to see Disney’s DUMBO. I had a flash back to my Mom, during the final months we shared. Here’s the story:
Mom was always spry. Frank and I called her the Energizer Bunny. When we would go to the grocery store with Mom, we would stand still and watch her push the cart zipping in and out through the aisles until she found everything that she wanted. In no way did we want to attempt keeping up with her.
As the COPD worsened and her breathing became more and more labored, she was put on oxygen. She had a small portable unit that she could pull, rolling behind her. The Energizer Bunny was slowing down.
Mom had always been fiercely independent and these new limitations were becoming too large to deny. They were upsetting and depressing.
She didn’t have to use the oxygen all the time, however, the doctor wanted her to have it on at night when she slept.
Every night she would expect me to come into her room to check on her and “tuck” her in, with a good night kiss. She was very aware of these moments of role reversal. At night, especially, she became very beautifully child-like. Once, she looked up at me, "Who's the Mother ?" I really didn't know if she was asking a question or if she was making an observation of the reality.
It was very difficult for her to get the oxygen tubing situated correctly. Even I had to figure it out every time I helped her. It was like a Labyrinthian course of tubing. The breathing tube went from her nostrils around each ear and tightened under her chin.
When Mom would attempt it by herself, it always was wound around her neck like a noose. Not a safe way to sleep.
I knew this was difficult for her, not only physically- to get the oxygen in place, but also psychologically and emotionally. It was a constant reminder of her advancing limitations and the terminal nature of her life situation.
I needed to find a way to lighten and find joy in these moments of truth. Mom was a beautiful woman in every way. The family always teased that she had a “ski-jump” nose. She would simply smile and not say anything. On these difficult nights, I placed the tubing near her nostrils and wrapped it around each ear, saying, “Look at these Dumbo ears! It’s easy to wrap around these Dumbo ears!” She would grin like a young one and forget for a brief moment the reality of the situation.
What I wouldn’t give for one more night, to wrap the oxygen tubing around those “Dumbo” ears.
Is there someone you have cared for? What ways have you found to make the life that person is living more enjoyable? What have you done for yourself, to make your work of caring more bearable? Or was/is your love so big that your caring is joy saturated?
I ask myself, Who will be taking care of me? Will I be as gracious and wide eyed as my Mom? What can I do to make it easier for those who care for me? I don't have children, who will it be?
Do you ever wonder?
Much love to you all,
Carol Vaccariello
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