Mothers and daughters

JUNE 10, 2014

It’s been six years, but I can still feel the depth of sorrow my mom felt as she crumbled next to me on the old blue couch in our front room. Her whole body wept, and I wept for her. Her mom (my grandma) was only about 10 feet away, up 7 stairs in the first room on the right. She had come home from the hospital on hospice care after breaking her hip. The doctor said she wouldn’t make it through surgery due to her heart condition. So, we brought her home. My mother had been her caretaker for 10 years previous, and she served her endlessly... selflessly. The reality of imminent separation broke open my mom’s grieving heart, and I sat still—holding her. Although I was grieving for my grandma, in that moment I was solely focused on my mom. I remember weeping for her as she wept for her mother. It was a beautiful, even sacred, moment for me. I felt the bond of 3 generations and my place as a woman in that heritage. 

Only a few months ago, I was on another couch in the same house, 10 stairs down and to the left. I was only a few feet from my mom who was in the hospital bed. The cancer had overtaken her body, staking its claim relentlessly. Her soul, however, seemed stronger and more determined than I’d ever felt it. She was resolute in her decision to transfer to hospice and to live her remaining days on her terms. And suddenly, our roles shifted: I was the daughter weeping for my dying mother.

I like to think there is something holy about mothers who first care for their daughters, and then daughters who later care for their mothers. Caring for her, loving her, and serving her when she was most vulnerable is one of the greatest privileges I’ve known. She first claimed me by relation, but she kept me close by service and love.