Sit With Mom in Her World
Mom is edging toward the end of her life. She turns 96 in November. She was born in 1920, the year women in America were given the right to vote. This year she will be voting for a woman for president. She has lived a long, full life and has seen a lot of change. But these days Mom sits. She goes to bed early, she gets up late, she sits in front of the TV all day and mostly naps.
I live with her and have my home office in one of the bedrooms. I get up hours before her and exercise, have coffee, breakfast, so that by the time she gets up, I'm ready to go to work.
I say good morning, have some chit-chat, make her coffee, toast, put out her pills and disappear.
At some point I come out to see what she wants for lunch. I quickly throw something together, place the tray on her lap, and disappear.
When I'm done working for the day, I come out and take care of lists, the groceries, post office, bank, drug store...you know the routine. In other words, I disappear.
I come home from errands, get something together for dinner, we eat, I'm tired, I go into another room with my iPad to wind down. I disappear.
When its time to go to bed, I round her up, lock up the house, we say goodnight, I disappear.
I realize that for all the time I spend keeping mom in the world, I never spend time in her world, with her, where she sits. There's a whole lot of quantity, but very little quality.
My world is so big, but hers is so small.
But I think I can fit in there with her.
If she were to die in the next year, I think I would look back and wish I had spent more quality time.
The quantity of time is a given. I am here for the duration. The quality of time is a gift.