Good Morning, Good night

The light creeps across the dresser slowly illuminating the ghostly shadows of the night.  Outside a chattering nut-collecting squirrel heralds the morning.  I arise knowing that there was so much to do even before I begin.  Beginning...that was how I view my day; to prepare to begin, to plan on beginning, to make motions to begin.  

The coffee mug is placed on the counter, the two napkins (one for my mother to use as a tissue and one to fold under the cup, then use as a tissue, leaving none to use as a napkin), the plate, the tea bag, the packet of sweetener.  I fish the unmatched socks out of the dryer and curse the fact that the missing partners are once again lost in the hem of a pair of pants, in the lip of the washer, or mysteriously floating in the cosmos never to be seen again.  I manage to pair two socks and congratulate myself.  The shuffling sounds from upstairs alert me to the fact that I only have a few more minutes.  Soon she will call to me...or maybe not.  Soon I will discover what kind of day I will face.  Soon I will learn if Mom is more or less cogent today.  I grab the miscellaneous laundry items awaiting sorting and dispense with them efficiently while straining to hear any sound that might indicate Mom's impatience.  Lately she doesn't call out.  She waits for me to figure out that she is awake and if, God forbid, I don't arrive at that conclusion she bounces around on her bed, opens and closes drawers, tears apart the covers and bed sheets, until I hear her and come upstairs.  Then I might be greeted with a scowl, a lack of recognition, and a snide comment about waiting for someone to come get her.  One morning I found her sitting and staring at her closet.  When I entered her room she said, "Oh, hello.  Do you know where my shoes are?"

"Yes.  They're in the closet."

"Well my daughter needs to get them for me."

"Your daughter?" I asked. "Where is she?"

"I'm not sure.  She's around here somewhere."

"Hmmm," I played along.  "What does she look like?"

"Well," she answered, "She's very pretty and very nice." (Her words, not mine!)

"Oh, well then, if I see someone that answers that description I'll send them in," I promised.  "Meanwhile I'll be happy to help you get dressed."

So this is the beginning of my day.  This is how the tone is set that will carry through from the first thing in the morning until at last I fall asleep.  I am not complaining. In fact, most of the time I feel...um...well not happy exactly...more resigned, I guess.  What would I change if I could?  I would probably pay someone to be with my mother to provide care for her 24/7.  Yes, that would be ideal.  In absence of that I am the 24/7 caregiver.  When I am tired, when I am grumpy, when I am stressed, miserable, sad, angry, frustrated, negative, or impatient I remind myself that right there in the name 'Caregiver' I care and give.  Yes, admittedly I am not always happy and loving on the surface but, all I have to do is think about the chair in the family room -- Mom's chair.  It is vacant while she sleeps but I know that it will be occupied the next morning.  Someday, it will be permanently vacant...empty and devoid of her presence.  I feel the tears well up and my throat constricts.  Then I understand what it means to love.  I also understand that my day begins when I greet my mother.  My night begins when I put her bed.  Then I become a wife and partner to my husband.  He and I have sacrificed so much of our time together, and yet feel grateful that we can offer a safe and loving environment for this woman who remains with us, who lives out her last days in relative comfort.  

Day by day.  The light illuminates and then retreats.  I say 'Good morning' and I say 'Good night'. The cycle continues until...until it ceases; and OH!...oh how sad it will be when I no longer have this job to do, this subject of love and care, this moment.