My Mom

My mother is currently at

Dresher Hill Health & Rehabilitation
1390 Camp Hill Rd.
Dresher, PA 19034

The office number is (215) 643-0600. She is in room 233, bed 1.

Mom is currently unable to sit up and is weak. She has difficulty speaking and wouldn't be able to respond to a telephone conversation. Mom cannot read nor write and she has lost much of her memory. Mom does recognize faces and takes pleasure in visitors, although she tires easily. I think she would appreciate cards and of course your prayers and best wishes. Mom's future is in God's hands, but I believe that mom may be fighting her last battle.

Last week, I flew out to visit mom and I just returned home last night. The train arrived at the Roslyn station at about 10:30 pm and Tim picked me up moments later. Dad greeted me when we got home but Mom was slumbering. The next morning, I awoke and Mom was in the kitchen. I was immediately struck by the fact that she was almost completely doubled over, with a height perhaps now no more than half mine. Nevertheless, she pealed an orange with a knife and turned on the gas stove for a breakfast of shredded wheat with steaming water. Mom was grateful for Nancy's stained glass Serenity Prayer, and later that day I hung it in the kitchen window where it can catch the light.

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change
courage to change the things I can
and wisdom to know the difference.

The sentiment is much like Mom's favorite Bible verse from Proverbs 3.

Trust in the LORD with all your heartand lean not on your own understanding;
in all your ways acknowledge him,and he will direct your paths.

Dad and Mom both had bad colds, so it was somewhat unfair to assess Mom's mental state. However, we did talk and I treasure that those moments at the kitchen table.

At sometime after eight, I heard mom call me from the bathroom. She was lying prone with her head on the bathtub about two inches from the floor, having tripped on the floor mats. Mom had a golf-ball-sized bump on the back of her head and, although I didn't know it at the time, her right arm was badly bruised. At about nine, Sherry, the physical therapist, arrived. She was adamant that Mom should be taken to the emergency room because of her being on Coumadin (a blood thinner), and Mom was equally adamant that she wanted to stay home-- fighting like a tiger to not go to a place that has brought her so much pain. About two hours later, Dad finally had me call 911, perhaps when he saw that Mom could no longer sit up. Anne arrived, and at about midday, we went to Abington Memorial's emergency room. Her physical and mental state has waxed and waned.

There are times when she is incoherent-- thinking that the year is 1918 or 1998 or that she needs to now help make the dinner for Dad as she pulls at the wires from her sparrow body. At other times, flashes of wit emerged, as for when Anne asked Mom if she was a tree climber. "Of course," mom said. "The higher the better."

But it was sad to see someone who was once so sharp and capable now hooked up to the same kind of machines that are used to monitor new born infants and also experiencing all the institutional smells, sounds, and sights that comes with that. Mom said of her experience in the ER that "I have been humiliated to the nth degree," and I think as a family we need to do what we can to honor mom's sense of propriety. It is out of that sense of propriety that she has asked for a closed casket funeral and that I suggest that during this time we forgo photos or videos of Mom while she is the way she is now. I know Mom would want us to honor her in that way.

What are the facts at present? Because of ongoing arterial fibrillation-- heart flutters-- her pulse has on occasion exceeded 150. But it is normal now with medication. Yesterday, she wasn't eating. Today, she is eating. Yesterday, she was paralyzed, unable to even sip water. Today, she is sitting up with assistance and eating food. She doesn't appear to be in pain. Mom does recognize faces and can give yes/no/of course answers or short answers. But I'm not sure that the words we're hearing are always associated with cognition.

The doctors reported today that she had another stroke on Sunday-- a TIA-- and is experiencing post-concussion syndrome. My view is that we are seeing a decline with ebbs and flows of mental and physical acuity. The plan is to be in rehab perhaps for two weeks. However, if she does go home, there needs to be a tough-minded review of the house from her point of view-- basically our vision on our knees. I've removed all the throw rugs, but Dad and Tim need to be sure that water is toweled up in the bathroom. There needs to be non-slip mats in the bathtub, better lighting, grab bars in the bathroom, removal of clutter, the habit of using the walker and wearing non-slip shoes, attention to vision and medications that can cause dizziness, and perhaps even sealing the door that goes to the basement. All of this seems like common sense, but the house is filled with stubborn people who for nine decades of their lives have in many matters leaned to their own understanding.

I was planning to visit my parents closer to my mother's birthday in October. However, the circumstances of the stroke and some of the decisions that were made at the time prompted me to come in earlier. I didn't anticipate mom's accident, of course, but I got a much more accurate sense of where things are now. While my parents are still living, I need to forgo other activities such as reunions and what Tim calls junkets, no matter how pleasurable they may be. I am at peace with this and I ask for understanding if I cannot spend more time doing things we have done in the past for fun. The remaining hours I have with my parents are precious. I have lived with mom and dad for no more than ten years. And, the last 25 years, I have spent the equivalent of a half year of my life with them, but spaced out over a quarter century. So the effect is like watching a stop action movie of a flowering and dying plant-- flourishing for a great length of time and then suddenly collapsing.

I would like to especially recognize the Birch family for their hospitality over the last week. Jennie and David are amazing children, bright, loving, and capable, and they can look forward to wonderful futures, and they owe much to their parents. I appreciate Anne's steadfast, tireless love for mom and medical erudition as well. It was a benediction to the soul for Anne and me to be on either side of Mom while we read from the Psalms and sometimes cried. I couldn't have asked for a better sister, and Mom could not have asked for a better daughter. So for Anne and Wayne, a heart felt thank you.

Some of the time we spent with Mom was sad-- sad that a woman who was fluent in several languages, who was triple certified in nursing, who traveled the globe and had friends throughout the continents is reduced to such paralysis and dependency. But Mom was never sad and on many occasions she was happy-- positively lighting up when she saw her nephew Frank White from Australia. What a kind man he was to remind us from Job that "I know my redeemer liveth" and mom's days are in God's hands.

The last hour I spent with mom-- possibly the last hour I will have with mom in this life-- was a time of smiles and hugs. Her voice was feathery and fluttery as she said "Philip, ever since you were a baby, I have loved you." I said "I will always love you." "Ditto," My Mom said. "You will always be with me." In 1981, Mom was by the side of her own mother as she died. Shortly after, she wrote this poem "in loving memory of my mother." It's the way I want to remember Mom, not the way I see her now, but in her vital and beautiful prime.

O Lord, Thank you for today and
for the happy memories of yesterday.
Help me to understand the mysteries of old age
and to rejoice in your countless favors.
I am keenly ware of my limitations
and dependence upon others, but do give me
a kind word and smile
for any who may come my way.
Save me from the critical fault finding habits
into which many old people fall.
As my mind takes pleasure in walking through
the corridors of the past, only let me go
loving, forgiving, and forgetting
any who have hurt or caused me pain
Help me to be wise, serene, patient, helpful, and unafraid
lest self-pity and anger take away
the peace of heart and joy of companionship
with you my God.

Thank you Lord Jesus.

Sharing as I do Mom's love for literature, perhaps it is appropriate that I close with Prospero’s loving praise of Miranda in Shakespeare’s The Tempest, because it applies perfectly to My Mom: “She will outstrip all praise and make it halt behind her.”