The Eleventh Hour

The vigil continues as Mother defies the odds. I have heard it said that whatever you are like in your formative years, you are even more so late in life. Our Mother is a prime example of that. She can only move her left arm, but move it she does, and very effectively.

We resort to modern technology to keep our widespread family up-to-date. Calling each member of our large family every day would be physically and emotionally exhausting. Thank goodness for instant access. One of the grandchildren started a thread of memories. We are all too far flung to gather and share, so we share on the Facebook site where we can still laugh, cry, and support one another.

I remind myself constantly that the fragile shell inhabiting the hospital bed is only a remnant of the mother we knew. Of course, the people caring for her at this time in her life have never known the woman they see every day, as the adventurous, courageous, feisty woman we knew. We have placed a photo by her bed to let them see part of what she was like. It is the passport photo we had taken in preparation for our trip to Okinawa,one young woman surrounded by her seven children. The photo does its job and opens the door for stories as the staff asks questions.

Time is short and our hearts are heavy, but I have faith there is a mansion waiting.