Maybe it was
bad luck that she fell; however, if the African CNAs would have come to her
help, she would not have fallen in the first place, trying to walk to get some
water. Then they let her linger in pain from Wednesday afternoon until early
Thursday evening when I arrived from a trip, before they sent her to a hospital
to be x-rayed.
She had
fallen during the three-year stay at ManorCare more than fifteen times and,
thankfully, each time she walked away with a painful bruise or two. But this
time her luck ran out. She was gaunt and malnourished because the nursing staff
lost her dentures four times and often gave her pills on an empty stomach which
caused her to vomit whatever food she did ingest. When she fell directly on her
right hip, it crushed it as if she had been in a severe car accident. It was a
comminuted fracture.
We could
barely dress and lift her onto the wheelchair for fear that we might cause her
unnecessary distress. I called a wheelchair van taxi to transport her to her
favorite restaurant to celebrate her 86 years of life. I knew she would not eat
much, between physical therapy and pain meds, but getting her out of the house
and into the world was hope and life outside of four walls.
Mom is now a
shell of her former self, frail, child-like, sweet some days, and a hellion on
others. After her stroke last year, her incipient dementia had gotten worse
and, on most days, she knows we are related, knows my name, but I am either her
sister or her mom.
When she was
72, I found her on top of a ladder trying to clean the gutters stuffed with dry
leaves. She was very active and moving about all the time. But she had slowed
down after a fall on wet leaves in the driveway. She had to wear a corset for
six months to repair the hairline fractures in the tailbone and ribs.
Mom took so
much pleasure in raising a garden and flowers. She took trips to Walmart with her Mimi Eileen
every spring to buy plants, seeds, pots, and fertilizer. There was a sparkle in
her eyes, and a sprint in her walk, as if she was going to a very important
event that she did not want to miss. Spring was on its way, mom said, she could
smell it in the air and hear it in the melodious birds chirping in the barren
trees.
Mom had a
green thumb and felt so happy and free among plants and flowers. She brought
back to life potted plants our neighbors put out in the street for trash pickup
and then she gave them back to the owners green and often in bloom. How did she
do that? It was magic.
She was
trying to make up for 48 years of living in a communist drab cinder block tiny
apartment where the only concessions to a garden were a couple of red geranium
plants she grew on the window sill in winter and on the balcony during the summer.
When she
first arrived in the U.S., mom had such a large and beautiful garden in our
faculty housing yard at MSU that people would drive by in awe watching her toil
in dirt with glee, waving at them from her white wide-brim hat. When the eggplants,
tomatoes, peppers, green onions, radishes, cucumbers, carrots, okra, and green
beans would start coming in, all neighbors had fresh vegetables from her
garden.
As mom aged,
the large garden dwindled to a few tomato plants and peppers and a few roses
and geraniums. I would find her picking Japanese beetle off the rose bushes and
putting them in a jar filled with water. Somehow she felt that killing them
this way was a more humane way to dispose of God’s creatures that dared to
crawl out of dirt to shred her rose bushes.
Every
spring, Anthony, our trusted lawn care man, would trim the azalea bushes and
the Japanese magnolia we had planted twenty years earlier when we moved into
our lovely southern home. Mom would
harass him, trim that, trim this, to my exasperation and his ever patient and
smiling demeanor. Anthony had a bossy mom just like her at home and he always
did their bidding with an unmistakable southern charm, “yes, ma’am.”
We still
talk with love and longing about our fig tree in the back yard that would give so
many figs, enough to make jars after jars of preserves each year. The tree was
there when we bought the house. If the new owners have not cut it down, the
tree is fifty-eight years old now. You never know who will enjoy the fruit of
your labor when you plant a fruit tree or a shade tree.
We miss the
gorgeous Ginkgo biloba tree in the back yard. Its leaves turned bright yellow
in early fall; they blanketed the ground with a thick and beautiful yellow
carpet of waxy leaves. Tiger and Bogart loved to chase moles and lizards in
this impromptu playground. When Tiger passed, the yellow leaves would cover his
grave.
It was mom’s
first home since the communists had confiscated my parents’ apartment, their
savings, and their pensions. And dad’s relatives took all their personal
possessions when dad passed away in 1989. To this day, when she has no clarity,
her scrambled brain remembers the confiscation and theft but I am the culprit.
Perhaps she
is right, if I had not left the communist country legally, perhaps she would
not have followed me here as a defector from communism and would have kept her
property. Those commies did not take lightly the acts of defiance of their
prison society citizens escaping from their tyranny and oppression.
Mom is 86
years young today. She came a very long way that flew by too quickly, almost
nine decades of life full of good and bad experiences. She said, she did not
care if she was 100 today as long as she was still alive and breathing, enjoying
the sunshine and her plants. She has an assorted collection of small potted
plants in her room at ManorCare. When she cannot water or tend to them, she
makes sure that Alamatu does it and brings them in and out of the sun.
I
have to remember Marcus Aurelius' advice to enjoy the moment because the present
is a split second in eternity, minuscule, transitory, and insignificant.
Seeing mom in the outdoors again, my eyes teared up. I thank God, Mom is still with us! I was not sure she was going to make it alive from this difficult surgery. But here we are, we live another day to enjoy each other’s company in the Virginia sunshine, with bright blue skies and a blustery wind.
Seeing mom in the outdoors again, my eyes teared up. I thank God, Mom is still with us! I was not sure she was going to make it alive from this difficult surgery. But here we are, we live another day to enjoy each other’s company in the Virginia sunshine, with bright blue skies and a blustery wind.
What a nice tribute to your mother. Hope she continues to enjoy her golden years.
ReplyDeleteTell us more about her journey to the US, how she defected and became a US citizen. Is there a lesson for others who would follow in her shoes?
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