Dancing in Wilmette

This picture never fails to bring a smile to my face and lately brings a few tears to my eyes as well.

I look at this beautiful girl dancing on her grandfather's property in Wilmette, outside of Chicago, and can't believe this was my Mother. I wonder what she must have been thinking, what music -- imagined or otherwise -- moved her to dance, or if the laugh I know was part of this moment in time. The sidewards glance has me wondering if it was directed at her Mother who monitored her every move.

That right leg bothers me.

To look at this little girl, I know she is in complete control of that leg; she jumps with joy and ease. And if one looks carefully, there is the telltale sign of a bruise over her shin earned doing -- God only knows what. Put this beautiful girl in her Sunday best and she proved to be just a little girl at heart.

Mom's right leg has now been rendered moot through disuse as her disease has progressed. After a period of weeks being confined to bed this past winter, her right foot is now permanently flexed; it is immovable.

The indignity is made worse when she expresses an overwhelming desire to walk. One experience of having your Mother look into your eyes, begging for help to free her from confines of a wheelchair, brings on an indescribable heartache.

We recently gave into her plea and, with the assistance of a trusted aide and friend, decided to help her attempt to walk. It was exhilarating, painful to watch, and probably ill-advised; how could we refuse? Tracy assisted Mom to her feet, and, with all the will she could summon, Mom took three tentative steps. The right foot refused to cooperate yet she persevered. She then uttered words that broke my heart, "I just can't do it."

I no longer have many problems dealing with the physical assaults on her body but I struggle when she becomes defeated; Mom didn't have to say anything for me to understand the expression on her face. Defeat is not a word in Mother's vocabulary; it is not part of her nature.

Her leg is still covered with bruises, but they were not earned at childhood play; instead, they are a result of some of her medication as well as the fact that she now doesn't move without the assistance of an aide or family member.

I never had the opportunity to meet the girl in this picture. If only I had the ability to transport myself to her grandfather's home in Wilmette on this sunny day so long ago. I would give most anything to see this beautiful girl -- dancing without a care in the world.

A rose by any other name ....

Mom's Favorite Flower - Queen Anne's Lace

A Lowly Weed

(photo: Derrick Bennitz)

January 2003

Reality hit home with my family in January 2003 with the sudden death of our father; he blessedly went to sleep one night never to awaken. I believe this represents the single most transformational experience in my life to date. Until that time I had personally lived with a veiled delusion that death would never cross our threshold. Despite a medical school education and considerable experience with death and dying, I had somehow managed to "semi-convince" myself that we might actually be spared the final act -- the simple, painful, and odd truth that we all -- each of us -- "owes" a death.

My patients who have died, either traumatically or at the end of a protracted illness, were clearly abstractions, while the sundry elderly relatives I have lost over the years had surely been preordained for that fate. But, MY OWN circle of family members were surely never meant to age or to suffer from disease, thus avoiding being touched by the cruel hand.

Clearly, my delusions collapsed that winter morning forcing me to begin accepting the fact that death surely is going to audaciously exact its toll on MY ENTIRE FAMILY given time -- the stats don't lie -- a debt will be paid. Sure as anything, no one ever asked if I like it.

One very well-intended, nice, elderly church lady (hat and all) felt compelled to impart some wisdom to me following Dad's funeral -- words that have never escaped my conscious thought,

"If you think losing your Father has been hard, just wait ......... losing your Mother will be 100 times more difficult!"