The faith language contained in some posts under the With Grace topic is an integral part of my mother’s story and that is the context in which I share it. If it differs from your faith tradition or spirituality, I invite you to adapt it to your own. While cherishing my faith, I respect the richness of different faiths and marvel at the intersections where we can meet. Read more
(Time Period: Within the last ten months of my mother’s life, under hospice care.)
Dinner was about to be served and it was time to wrap up our visit. As Jess and I were on our way out, we turned to see Gabriel wheeling Mom to the head of the table. Rather than transfer her to the dining room chairs, it was better – safer and less of a fall risk – to have her stay in the wheelchair now. Today Mom was smiling, her appetite was good and she had the energy to hold herself up for a meal with the group. It was more common, however, to find her leaning to one side, no matter how much the caregivers repositioned her or propped her up with pillows. That Mom might slide out of the chair was a constant concern.
Jess unlocked the car door and suggested we head directly to a store to find a makeshift seatbelt. We drove to REI (the outdoor sports equipment store) in search of a solution. It didn’t dawn on us that these wheelchair accessories are readily available online or at medical supply stores. Read more
On Saturday mornings, I’d arrive at Mom’s and we’d go sit in her private room while her caregivers vacuumed and picked up the house. Her room was very pleasant, well-lit by natural sunlight and with a window overlooking the pool – “the oceanfront room,” as Tim and Cristina, the owners of the group home, lightheartedly referred to it. Read more
How is Trust coming into play for you at this time? That’s the question that kicked off this series. As I stated in the introduction, I’ve learned that trust is an essential element of being in the current and that in each opportunity, crisis, and crossroad, the issue of trust is critical. Read more
I’m thirteen years old and sitting at the kitchen table with my friend, Luisa. Opened textbooks and library books surround us. It’s dark outside and dinner time is fast approaching on a winter weekday afternoon. The smell of baked potatoes in the oven permeates, as my mother begins to prepare tonight’s meal. She hears our intermittent groans and senses our trepidation at the size of the project. Read more