In early October, my mother and I returned from a memorable trip to the Great Lakes and Michigan. The last days of the trip were spent in the Saginaw Bay, Frankenmuth, and then Detroit. It was very cold and windy in Detroit; however, we enjoyed the bus tour and I was able to spend time in the museums (Mother was content to give it a pass).
A day or so after we returned, Mother complained about her vision. She said that she could no longer read the newspaper; the words were blurry and “funny.” We made an appointment with the Opthamologist. The tests revealed macular degeneration; in one eye, it was advanced. However, at that point, she could still drive and read large type. We felt we were dealing with gradual vision impairment.
It was not to be. Within a week to two weeks, her vision worsened significantly. Another appointment was made. They couldn’t understand why her vision was worsening at such rapid speed. This is not typical of macular degeneration. An appointment in early November had been scheduled with her primary physician. By the time we went to that appointment, she had swollen and puffy feet, ankles, and legs. Her gait was wobbly, and she was almost totally blind. She also had an insatiable thirst. Blood tests all came out normal. But the doctor was concerned, and ordered an MRI. This occurred last Monday, November 7.
The results were tragic … to her children. The MRI revealed a large mass behind her eyes, so deep that a biopsy was too risky for her. The location was such that it was affecting her vision, balance, and motor skills. It explained her strange symptoms. We were sent to a neurologist right away (that same day) … he explained her test results and showed all of us the images. He said although they couldn’t take a biopsy without risk, the rapid growth and onset of symptoms indicated it was a brain tumor. She seemed to be amazingly calm … I couldn’t tell if it was unbelief or stoicism, shock, or something else. But when the discussion went to treatment options, which were slim and would involve discomfort, she was quick to say “I’m not interested in any treatment. I’ve lived a long life. My life ended 4 years ago with the death of my husband.” I could see then that she was tearless, calm, and peaceful.
It’s now Saturday. Since that Monday, we’ve been involved in a whirlwind of activities relating to her care, with hospice support. It’s unclear how much time she has left … weeks, or months. Somehow I think it won’t be long. She is so ready to Go Home! Several times she has said that over the past 4 years, she’s been praying for God to take her, and her only concern is for her children and the heartache this will cause them. Isn’t that a typical mother?
There are times I am so glad that she is blind. She can’t see my tears. She isn’t sad, she’s not grieving. At one point she even said she was relieved there were no more secrets … she didn’t have to pretend anymore that she was OK. She only cries when she thinks about her children losing her. Meanwhile, I spend long hours talking with her, going through her papers and belongings, discussing the meaning of each and every item, no matter how trivial they seem. I discover that each item has some sort of memory attached to it. And it’s become apparent how blessed we all are to have this time with her. We can talk openly and without reservation … because she is ready. Death and Cancer are not her Enemies.
I am frightened concerning what lies ahead. But God will carry us through this. Meanwhile, she can still walk with assistance, go on short trips in the car, spend time outside, and have long talks with us. These days are to be treasured, for as long as they continue.
When I cry, the tears are All About Me.
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