Mom




My mom, actually she’s my step-mom, is in her eighties. She became my step-mom when I was ten, when she married my dad. Both she and my dad lost their spouses by death. Trudi’s (my step-mom) husband died of a heart attach. My dad lost my real mom to liver failure, a.k.a. alcoholism. So Trudi is my mom. Trudi did everything a mom is suppose to do. She loved me like a mother loves her son. My brothers and I always called her Trudi as I was growing up, but during a time of enlightenment in my thirties the reality of all she did in my life finally hit home and I’ve been calling her Mom ever since. She loves it when I call her that.

So like I said, my mom is in her late eighties now. She’s still in Denver, where I grew up and where my two brothers live. A year or two before my dad died, which has been a couple of years ago, we started to notice that Mom was losing her memory. Now four years later her memory is hanging on by a thread. If my one of my brothers takes her out the night before, she can’t remember the next day when I ask how her evening was. If I ask her what she had for breakfast that morning, she is clueless. She has no idea what the weather has been like that day. Last fall my wife, son and daughter-in-law went to visit her. Mom remembered Miriam, but Eric and Carleen were strangers to her. “I’m his grandmother?” she said. I think this hurt Eric quite a bit, even though he understood. He loves Mom deeply and has wonderful memories of all the grandmotherly things she did for him.

So how does this connect to a leminal experience right? Where’s the crazy time.

I call Mom about once a week. Sometimes a week goes by when I don’t get her called. On good weeks I’ll call twice, but that’s pretty rare. On almost a daily basis I think about Mom and tell myself that I need to call her. The only days I don’t think about needing to call her is the first couple days after I’ve called her.

So I called her tonight. The usual call goes something like this. Her caregiver answers the phone and goes to get her. When she hears that it’s me calling, she’s excited. We say hi and I ask her how she’s doing. “How are feeling?” “Good.” “Are you sleeping well at night?” “Oh sure.” “What have you been up to?” “Oh, I don’t know. Not much?” “Have you seen John and Jim recently?” “No.” I know for a fact that she has. And that’s it. She has nothing more to offer. I can’t ask her about anything else, because she can’t remember anything. If I try to prod her, she gets confused and scared and can’t remembers words she wants to use.

So to ease the situation I start to tell her about what’s happening with me and our family. She listens and says stuff like, “Oh, that’s good.” “Oh, that’s bad.” “Oh, that’s good…isn’t it?” “Well, I bet that was exciting.” “That’s nice.” Half the time I’m fairly certain she really doesn’t understand what I’m talking about because I’m telling her stuff about her grandsons or great grandson, or things were doing in Oregon and she really doesn’t know who or what the heck I’m talking about. When I run out of stuff to tell her about, I tell her I love her, she tells me the same, and we say good-bye.

Crazy time. It’s so hard talking to this person that I love so deeply, but know she does not comprehend most of what I’m telling her. It’s painful. I usually go away from our “conversations” feeling like I’ve been a dutiful son, but also feeling very sad.

So for a couple of days I feel good that I’ve recently called Mom, then the guilties start to creep in and before I know it it’s been a week and I really need to call her. Doesn’t sound very loving, does it. Most days I feel torn, I want to call, but I don’t want to call. I feel like all I have to offer her is shallow, meaningless conversation.

I don’t know what my mom’s experience is of our calls, but I clearly feel that they are meaningful to her on some level. One thing she regularly wants to know is when I’m going to come visit her. That’s something that she doesn’t forget, that she wants me to come and visit.

So the fact of the matter is that talking to my mom is crazy time for me. It’s hard. Uncomfortable. Very sad. But I think my mom needs those call and what’s more, I need them. I need to learn to love my mom in a whole new way. I need to trust God to fill those conversations with mysterious grace and show me how to be present to her in those few minutes. I need to go there as often as I can and stay there as long as I can.