I cannot be more grateful for the numerous responses to my last Blog. Experience has a marvelous way of linking hearts to hearts. The stories several of you shared about your own mother’s love and/or current state of health left no doubt about that.
Mother is actually doing pretty well at the moment. We’ve tried to keep our expectations limited, but she has surprised all of us so far, including the caregivers working with her.
Who said 96 was old?
At the same time, I wonder what my mother is thinking about all that has happened to her. I asked her several times about it when I was there, and every time she said something to the effect that she wished she hadn’t fallen, but she wants to get back home.
Pretty much what any of us would think, I would say, which reminded me as she repeated these words several times that it is easy to think people her age don’t think the same way those of us younger do about life.
Well, they do. They have goals, expectations, wishes, feelings, needs just like the rest of us.
What I have to watch is my own tendency to let the reversal of roles aging sometimes forces on children and parents to dominate my attitude toward her to the point where I don’t take her thoughts, feelings, and longings as seriously as I once did.
“Humoring her” is the great temptation at this point, rather than actually listening to what she is saying.
When I make this mistake I am sure she spots it right away. We all do when it happens to us, so why would she be any different?
Here is the reality these circumstances have made me see quite clearly. Aging mothers and fathers have been around the block a few times. They know some things about life. They may not be able to move fast, or even think and speak fast, but they still know stuff and have lived what many of us may never experience.
So here’s to my Mother’s aging generation:
Thanks for putting up with us as your children. We don’t mean to suggest we know more than you do, but we act that way sometimes. We want to decide things for you even when you are capable of deciding for yourself (something, I might add, my sister-in-law has stopped several caregivers from doing when they wanted to talk to her instead of my mother).
We want you to know that we love you and will try to meet your needs as we can in order to make your last days as good as they can be.
More than that, we will do so as your children, even if we have to make decisions similar to those you once made for us. You have been, are, and forever will be the parent. We are your children, and that’s the way we like it. After all, you are the one who made that possible.
So you will never be a burden to us. Perish that thought from your mind.
You are the blessing we cherish having.
linnposts.com 
My mother suffered from dementia, and yet, I am sure she understood more than we ever imagined. She just couldn’t speak in a language that we understood. The evening before she died I had her outside. She was in her wheelchair and we were walking around the block. It happened to be around full moon time and the moon was absolutely beautiful that evening. I said, “Oh, look at how pretty the moon is tonight.” When she looked up at the moon after I said that I was convinced even more that she understood much of what was going on even if it didn’t seem so. She died of a heart attack the next morning — finally released from the dementia. Those last few years of her life have reminded me that even though it is difficult to visit with a person suffering from dementia we need to do it, believing that there is more understanding there than we can know. Thanks for sharing your stories about your mother.
Sweet memories come to me as I read about your mom, Jan.
My mama died at 94 last June and I feel her swaddling me every day.
Your wisdom about respectful caregiving of our parents is so important.
Blessings on this sacred journey.
Dixcy
Thanks, Dixcy. I remember the wonderful thoughts you shared as you made this journey with your mother.