Our Mother: Part 1

It was a typical Saturday: my Mom had been to our house several times - the first time because she was out getting herself breakfast and couldn't stand the thought of a Saturday morning without seeing her babies. I wouldn't say I had woken up on the wrong side of the bed, but I was drained. I was irritable and being negative (very unlike myself!) and she quickly let me know I needed to change my attitude.  She reminded me that I needed to make a choice and make a good one. That no one but me could change my thoughts. But, that day, it wasn't so easy for me. I was tired. Life was making me that way. Work was terrible, the thrill of summer was over, and I was quickly coming unraveled.

My Mom left and went to Target, calling me a few minutes later asking about something for Landon. I missed her call, but came in from playing outside moments later. I noticed her purse on the bench by the front door and can't quite explain the relief I felt when I saw her walking out of the laundry room upstairs.  She knew I needed her that day and in true Mama fashion, came without being asked. That's how my Mom is - the giver, the rescuer, the calmer. The one who saves the day without anyone ever knowing it was her. It was then that we sat down at the dining room table and continued our talk. She saw the disparity on my face. The weakness that I tried so hard to hide from the world.  She knows me best and it was so very obvious that I felt defeated.  

It is no coincidence that three different times that day, I sat across from my Mom, who gracefully reminded me that my attitude determines everything.  She gently told me that I set the tone for my entire household and if I had a bad attitude or was short with everyone, they'd do the same.  She is so right. We also talked about a close family friend (my sister-in-law's cousin) who is 6 months pregnant and had had emergency brain surgery the Monday before because of a fall at the gym. We talked about how God healed Rachael and how amazing it was and how she and her sweet girl, Ali-Joy were the true definition of a miracle.  My Mom said that in those situations, it's so hard to remember, but we have to believe that "God's got this." Little did we know that I would soon be clinging to those words with all of my heart.

That night, my Mom had begged Kevin and I to go to dinner so she could watch the kids.  We weren't really feeling it, but finally decided to go to the movies. She popped back over at 7 p.m. When we got back at 10, she didn't feel good and asked if one of us could drive her home.  Kevin did. I thanked her as she shuffled out the front door, visibly sick. She let me know she would have my stepdad, Pat, come get her car on Sunday. Kevin took her home and walked her inside and made sure she locked the door behind her.  It breaks his heart when he thinks about that moment, since he was the last person who saw her.

It was a typical Sunday morning for our family. It was raining so we didn't do much.  I had a baby shower to go to that afternoon and it was actually nice to not have to go anywhere that day. When I got back home from the shower, I was cooking dinner. The house phone (which we never answer) kept ringing and ringing.  It was so annoying and I remember thinking I was so ready to get rid of it. Reagan had her head pressed to the floor listening to the phone ring from under the closet door.  I finally answered it and nothing could have prepared me for what I was about to hear.  It was the Raleigh police, trying to figure out where my Mom's car was.  Because they didn't know what had happened to her (and my stepdad had to break in to the house because she wasn't answering the door) they thought someone had stolen her car and injured her in the process.  When I let them know, he let me know that she was on her way to WakeMed via ambulance.

After waiting for what felt like the longest two hours of my life, I finally got to see my Mom. I took one look at her and knew something terrible had happened. I told her I loved her and left the room a few minutes later to cry my eyes out. As always, I didn't want her to see me crumbling. I wanted to be strong and happy and hopeful, but holding her cold hand made me none of that. I called my brothers and told them to come quickly. If I was a betting person, I would have told you she wouldn't have lived through the night.  It was a sight I had never hoped my eyes would see.

When I replay that Sunday in my head, I am overcome with guilt.  Why didn't I call my Mom that morning to see how she felt? Why didn't I go see her? It wasn't abnormal for me to call her and she not answer the phone. So, the truth is, if she hadn't answered the phone, I wouldn't have gone over there anyway. My brothers have reiterated to me that I wasn't meant to find her in that state.  I wouldn't have been able to handle it. I try not to feel sorry for myself, and the doctors have assured me that had she been sitting right beside me, there would have been nothing I could do for her. But, I will forever regret not calling her that day. Not showing up at her doorstep for no reason, like she always does me.

The next few days were a blur.  The doctors were realistically honest but every now and then hopeful, letting us know that the stroke she had suffered from was massive and had destroyed the entire left side of her brain.  If she ever was to gain any function back, she would most definitely have major issues with communication and language. She is right handed and because of that, it told them she was "left brained". She was in the neuro ICU for several days. I made the trek to the hospital several times a day, balancing visiting hours with bedtime stories, and vague explanations of where I was going and what had happened to Gram. And although I have no intention of making this about me, I couldn't help but feel sorry for myself during this time.  Why my mother? I was too young to live the rest of my life without a mother. It wasn't fair. My moments of anger were fleeting and mostly turned into emotional sobs. All I could hear was her voice telling me to change my attitude, so I tried. Oh, have I tried. My heart broke into a million pieces on the night of August 19 and I'm not certain it will ever be whole again. I remember my brothers and sister-in-law's telling me that we needed to tell her what happened to her.  Tell her where she was and why she was here.  I tried several times to tell her, but couldn't get the words out without a flood of tears.  And then it happened: I looked her in the eyes and said, "Mom, do you know why you are in the hospital? Do you know what happened?" She looked at me with the saddest eyes I had ever seen.  "You had a stroke." Her face dropped with disappointment, as she wiped the tears she thought she was crying from her eyes.  "You are going to be fine, though. You just have to get a little bit stronger before they will let you go home." I lied straight through my teeth. Who the hell knew if she'd ever leave this place.  I was certain that if she heard me say something positive, she would fight so much harder. My voice was loud, as if I was trying to reach the innermost part of her being.  My brothers reminded me that her ears did work. ;) That week, I made it my job to bring her back as much as possible. I would ask her where her bracelet was and she would lift up her arm and show it to me.  I'd beg her for kisses and she would pucker right up.  For every sweet little milestone there were a million things that would go wrong.  Her brain was continuing to swell (and if it got too bad would compress her brain stem and kill her).  She got a fever one night.  Her blood pressure was high. The list went on.  Every day she (and I) got a little bit stronger, but it was in the random moments of being alone that the reality of what was happening would hit me.  I watched her pick up her right arm and hand and move it with her left.  That was hard to watch. So hard.  I didn't let her see me cry, but knew that that was going to be a life changer.  How is she going to function without the use of her right leg and right arm? It was (and is) too much for my little mind to think about, so I just take it one day, one hour, and one minute at a time.

Life changed in an instant and although I'm overly optimistic (I get that from my Mom!) life as we knew it has totally changed.  The Gram that helped sustain our household is no longer there, the mother who drove me absolutely crazy on a daily basis has vanished, the best friend who knows every thought I am thinking before I even say it has disappeared. My phone no longer shows 6 missed calls a day from "Mom"...and my spirit has been ripped into a million pieces.  I have moments where I feel like I am overcome with strength. Like someone is carrying me (thank you, God!)...and at other times, I look around and can't see a soul. I feel alone.  It's those times that I want so badly to pick up the phone and call my Mom for advice. But, I can't. And I'm not sure I'll ever get used to that. And though I thank God every hour for not taking her to heaven, I am having a hard to adjusting to this new life without the mother I once knew. 

I feel like we just hopped on the tilt-a-whirl and every time I think we are up, we go right back down. On August 10, I accepted a new job and spent this week in Kentucky training. It was very hard for me to get on the plane last Sunday, but I knew I'd find the strength to carry on.  If my Mom could talk, she would've made me go. I struggled with finding a balance of knowing that she was taken care of by the hospital staff (and my brothers) and also relinquishing being in control of the situation.  While there last week, I knew what she ate, when she ate, when she slept, etc. While in Kentucky, I didn't have a clue.  I FaceTime'd with her several times, but it wasn't the same as sitting there.  I hear she is "doing" lots of new things...including trying to talk (moving her mouth and "words" coming out). It seems as if she knows exactly what she is saying, but it isn't clear to everyone else.  She says "thank you" pretty clearly.  She laughs at jokes...smiles when one of her grandchildren walks in the room and rolls her eyes at me when I would tell Kevin to stop moving the FaceTime camera so I could see her. Our mother is still inside there, we are just going to have to be very patient to get her back.

Before I left, there were so many things I wanted to share, so many things I wanted to say. I'll get to them as soon as I can wrap my mind around all of this, but first, I have a plane to catch to RDU and a Mom that's waiting for a goodnight kiss. :) See you soon, Mom!

To be continued...