It was late morning when I received the call from Mom’s group home and left work early to be with her — she had fallen and broken her hip. When I arrived in the emergency room she was resting comfortably after the painful fall but was disoriented. Then, without skipping a beat, she said, “You look disheveled.” I told her I knew and to myself I laughed until I cried.
What once would have been hurtful, I now found humorous. In the past, her comment on my hair would have trumped the importance of my being there for her, in my eyes. But now I had a better sense that my presence, unconditionally, was important to her even if her words focused on criticizing my hair. I truly wish she had concentrated on my presence, not on my hair at all. But then again, if that had happened she wouldn’t have been my mother.
The next evening, after visiting her in the hospital, I got a haircut. It looked and felt good.
The beginning of my mother’s end signaled the end of my caretaking role and the beginning of clearing time to focus on my own creativity. This would be meaningful, in due time.
