Lifelines
Amy Hill
By Mary Forman, Jamestown, Rhode Island, U.S.
My mother is dying and we’re in the middle of a pandemic. Just about the time we put her in home hospice, word started coming out about the Covid-19 virus. Like everyone else, I was unsure about what was happening, what it all meant. All I knew was that I had a 91 year old mother, breathing compromised and on oxygen 24 hours a day, who was nearing her end.
I had been monitoring her slow descent for months, watching as her muscles grew weaker, her eyesight dimmed, her pain deepened. “Why doesn’t God just take me?” she asked again and again. I had no answers.
My world, already grown small from my caretaking responsibilities, began to grow as small as Mom’s, as one by one, all my distractions, all my support systems, all the tools I used to get me through this emotionally difficult time, began to disappear- history classes, volunteer work, writing group, hot tub soaks and water aerobics, political meetings, Quaker fellowship, and social gatherings with friends- all gone. Within two weeks, my usually full calendar was empty. Thankfully, I had a good therapist who was used to meeting online. My lifeline.
Mom lost most of her lifelines as well- the priest no longer came to visit, the layman didn’t deliver the host, the stylist was no longer available to trim her hair. Gone were the little surprises- a neighbor dropping in, a trip to the doctor with a stop at the ice cream shop, a granddaughter coming by to say hello. Her contacts were curtailed to the bare minimum- her caretakers and visits from the masked hospice nurse and chaplain. Everyone else came in through the phone.
So much death around us. It feels abstract until I turn to look into Mom’s face.
Family members who care for her circle around each other, in our own pain, nursing our own fears. We are all waiting for relief, grabbing at the hope that it is not far off.
I set out on my daily walk, the only activity left to me. The breath of spring staves off the growing darkness. I drink in its sweet smell, search for color- bright daffodils and forsythia- that signal the earth is reborn, renewed. I am reassured, this too shall pass. Everything does. Even Momma. Even me someday.