Merry Christmas Mom


Friday December 17, 6:17, in the morning. I stroll out of bed and shuffle my way into the kitchen. The coffee pot is empty. So clumsily, I begin to make some coffee. Today won’t be like the rest of my days. Today we’re going to visit family, my mom and I.
I’m excited; getting adjusted to this new daily routine has been to say the least, a challenge. I am naturally a bit hyper, even impulsive at times. But now, wake up in the morning put on the coffee, wash my face, set out mom’s clothes. Set up her morning pills. Pour my coffee, check my emails and wait for her to begin stirring. Get her dressed, check her blood sugar, (she’s a diabetic), pour her a cup of coffee, and push her out to the garage for her first morning cigarette. Start a load of laundry, and sit with her and my coffee until she’s ready to go in. Bring her inside; fix her breakfast with one piece of toast. Share breakfast with her. Clean-up. Push her to the living room. She lies on the sofa, I turn on the television, crank up the sound, and she goes to sleep. I clean the morning dishes, empty the dishwasher from the night before, take out the trash, pick up and carry out the bed mats and diapers from the night. Get myself dressed, tinker a bit on some craft project, and make the beds. This is when mom wakes back up. So it’s off to the bathroom, change diaper, out to the garage for another cigarette, sit and wait, tinker with another craft project or maybe transfer clothes to the dryer, while I’m in the garage with mom. Back into the house, mom stays in her wheelchair for awhile, exercises her legs on her little bike peddle. I start making lunch, ½ of a sandwich made with one piece of bread, some fruit, and Lays potatoes chips. These days my life has been like a ditto copy routine. It’s very different from a few months back. Directing a school, juggling teacher schedules, parent schedules, accounting, monthly letter, meetings, doctor appointments, for mom, pill schedules, caretaker schedules, etc… I was wearing so many hats sometimes I forgot who I was supposed to be. Now I think sometimes I have too much time to think. When I was so busy, I didn’t have to think about me, or life, just take care of it. Now I think a lot.

I finish preparing the coffee and walk into her room. Standing at the end of her bed, I gaze at her sleeping. My mind flashing through memories we’ve shared together, rocking me in her arms, at the big age of 11, because I was so up set. All the early morning restaurant breakfast’s we shared together and our trip to San Francisco. Staying up all night as a kid to watch her, because she bumped her head, then there was that day she screamed names at me when I walked in from school, and then left. I remember wondering if she was ever going to return. She didn’t come back until about 4: oo in the morning. I remember watching her as she came through the door. She glared at me for a moment, and then whispered, I was all the way to San Diego before I turned around. Feeling confused, I whispered back, “what did I do?” She never answered. After I graduated I remember thinking that it was her fear of me growing up and leaving. I really never did find out. I never asked again. When I was just a young kid, she would have my girl friends spend the night and take us to the donut shop at 5 in the morning for the early morning fresh donuts. It always smelled so good. Everywhere we went, she knew people. She had been a waitress all her life. Her customers came from across the world to see her. When ever we ran into people she knew, she would tell them the story of how jealous I was because we couldn’t go any where without running into someone she knows. I don’t remember feeling like that. I remember thinking how wonderful it was that she knew people everywhere. But I never argued. I just smiled. Her story seemed to make her feel better. Funny most of my life has been about my mom. All these memories, they all seem so long ago. Gazing at her she looks so peaceful sleeping there...
Some days though, it’s like being with a stranger, listening to their life story each day, over and over, trying to explain who I am, hour to hour. Trying to sooth out the confusion and fear I see in her eyes. Some days I just want to sit and cry. But being here for her is comforting to my soul, I love her.
But there are those moments, when she’s all there, filled with that whit and since of humor, that could bring any crowd to their knees in laughter. I so cherish those moments, these days. They bring me such joy. They’re just getting farther and farther apart. Now here it is Christmas time again. That time of year with the reason for the season and the HO, HO, Ho’s. She loves making sure there is something for each grandchild. Everyday she goes down the list. Everyday she asks me who has what, making sure she hasn’t missed anyone. Each day I go down the list with her and tell her what we have for each grandchild.
I can smell the coffee now. She still loves her coffee and cigarette in the morning. I turn and shuffle back to the kitchen. Pour the coffee and sit it on the table. Moments later she is stirring. I shuffle back to her room, help her out of bed. These days she spends most her day in a wheelchair. Her legs just don’t have the strength to hold her up too long. I get out her clothes and diapers and we begin with the morning routine. But today it’s something special to wear for the family Christmas party. She’ll be seeing her sisters and their children too. She begins to realize and ask is today the party? Yes mom it is. Oh! She begins to get excited. You need to bath me. Yes I know. You need to do my hair. Yes mom I will. Is your sister going? Yes Mom, she’ll be there. Oh, OK. When are we leaving? “In just a little bit, mom.” “OK, let’s have some breakfast first.” “Alright.” she whispers.”
It’s a push into the kitchen. “What would you like this morning” “Eggs” I want eggs and One piece of toast” “OK” I get out the pan start her eggs and one piece of toast. Soon enough they are finished and I pour the coffee and butter the toast. “Here you go mom” “Oh Ok.” While she eats I check my Emails. Answer a couple, then, share a cup of coffee with her. “I’m done. I don’t want any more.” “All right mom. I clear off the dishes and wash them out and load the dish washer. “I want a cigarette.” “OK mom, just a moment.”
It’s another push off to the garage. She liked sitting in the garage with the door open watching all the neighbors. Some days she was so funny, she would sit there and tell me some great stories about the neighbor and their lives. “See that car, he parks down here, but walks to that house over their. I don’t think he wants his wife to know where he is.” “I laugh, his wife, how do you know he is married?” “I don’t know, it sounds good don’t it.” I laugh again, “Mom you are so funny.” “Well see that girl over there.” “Yea” she has a black boyfriend, and the little boy is white” “Oh, well maybe the boyfriend isn’t the boy’s dad.” “No I think he just looks like his mom.” I chuckle, mom.” I shake my head in disbelief. “Well it makes everything more interesting this way!” “Mom, you are so bad.” She shrugs her shoulders at me. “It’s time for your bath. She nods her head a push back to the bedroom. I run a tub full of warm water. She can barely step over the tub just to sit in her shower chair. I pour water over her, wash her down and pour water over her to rinse her off. Then it’s a slow process trying to step out. Her clothes are neatly laid on her bed. A nice pair of white pants, a fancy red blouse, an under shirt, and red socks. For the past few months, mom refuses to wear shoes, bras, or her teeth. Crazy I know but the argument ended long ago and she won. Carefully I dress her, take her to the bathroom and comb out her hair. “I need lip stick” she demanded. “Ok mom.” On goes the lip stick. She’s ready. “I’m going to get me ready now, mom.” She sits in front of the television. The sound is deafening, she refuses to even consider a hearing aid... So we deal with the sound along with the neighbors across the street.
I begin getting ready. I wash my face. “Are you done yet?”Mom yells. “No, not yet mom,” yelling back from my bedroom, “I put on my clothes, and walk to the kitchen. Are we going, now?” “No , not yet mom. I pace back to the bathroom and do my hair. We’re going to be late,” she yells out again. “No we’re not mom.” I announce from the bathroom. I finish up and come out with my shoes. “Are you done yet?” Just a few more moments, mom, I need to pack up the car.” She takes in a deep breath and sighs. I smile and shake my head.
I slip on my shoes and pace out to the car, carrying out the needed goods. It’s like having an infant all over again. Mom needs extra clothes, jackets, and a few other items just to make it through the day. Then quickly I return to her. This time she just stares at me as if she has been waiting for hours. I smile. “Are you ready?” I jokingly ask. “Yes, are you?” Yes.” I smile. The push is on. I grab her chair and start out to the car. She begins drilling me on the list of Items packed. “Did you get my extra clothes?” “Yes” Did you get my diapers? Yes. Did you get the gifts? Yes. Did you get…?” Mom just get in the car, I smile. She pulls herself up and slides into her seat. I pull her chair back, buckled up her seat belt and loaded up the wheelchair into the trunk.
As we begin driving toward the freeway, I glance over at mom. Her expression has changed. Are you Ok, mom? She stares at me with that blank look. I smile. Do you know who I am? She quickly turns away and stares out the window. Mom…I’m your daughter, Berta. She flips her head towards me just long enough for a glance. “Your baby mom.” She flips her head around again, this time with a short pause, then back to staring out her side window. I take in a deep breath, smile and keep driving. Several moments pass. Periodically she glances at me then turns quickly as if to keep me from noticing. Still refusing talk to me. The look in her eyes is that of a stranger I might talk to on the street. Just to be polite, but with no knowledge of whom I am. The silence feels cold, almost lonely. The thought runs through my head, I’m sitting here with my mom, the one person I use to share all my hearts thoughts with and now she doesn’t even know who I am…”Berta? Yes, that’s me mom. Berta, my baby? You’re not little any more. No I’m all grown up. Little I’m not. She smiles at me. Quietly in my thoughts, Thank you Lord She’s back. We’re going to see my sisters. Yes we are. It’s Christmas. Yes it is. I smile big. She smiles and nods her head. We’re going to see my sisters. Yes we are. She smiles bigger.
It’s about an hour and a half drive. But today it feels like ten. The silence is so deafening. But we’re almost there. Mom, we're going to stop by the store. What for? I need to pick up a camera. Oh, ok. I pull off the freeway. There’s a Drug store just ahead. I pull in and park. Open the trunk and pull out her wheel chair. Come on mom go in with me. Alright. She slides herself out of the car and into her chair. I push into the store doorway. The lady behind the counter says happy holidays. I smile. Mom just stares at her. Says nothing. I stroll down to the counter where the disposable cameras are. I pick one out and we’re off to the check out counter. There’s a different clerk here. She looks up and says Happy Holidays. I smile and say Merry Christmas. The clerk just glares at me. Mom glances at me and then stares at the clerk saying nothing. Then she turns and glares at me. The look she has in her eyes, gives me a sinking confused feeling. I pay the clerk and we’re on our way to the car. I help mom into her seat. She glares at me. Mom, are you OK. She rudely turns her head away and closes her eyes. I buckle up her seat belt and put her wheel chair back into the trunk.
I climb into the driver seat, slip my key in the ignition and realize she is sobbing. Mom, what’s wrong? I’m sorry I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Sorry for what, Mom? I made you do all this. I’m sorry. What did you make me do? I made you buy all these gifts. I was confused. I’m sorry. She sobbed even harder. Mom, what do mean? I thought it was Christmas. I was confused. I’m sorry. She sobbed even more. Mom, it is Christmas. No! I don’t want you to do that. I’m sorry. She sobbed harder. Mom, please stop crying, it is Christmas. You’ll feel better when we get to the family party. I buckle up my seat belt and start my engine. Slowly I pull out of the drive way. Mom is still sobbing. I begin driving down the highway. STOP! She grabbed the steering wheel throwing the car into the right lane I screamed, MOM... I pulled over and parked, my heart beating so hard it felt as though you could see it pumping through my chest. Breathing in deep, almost panting I looked up at mom. Her voice is loud and harsh but apologizing, “I know I get confused. You don’t have to do that. Do what mom? You don’t have to pretend for me. I know it’s not Christmas. I know it’s a Holiday, I don’t know which one but don’t pretend for me, she yelled through her tears. Take me HOME!
Mom, it is Christmas. I don’t know what’s wrong. Please stop crying…please. You STOP! STOP NOW! Take Me HOME! That lady in that store said Holidays. I SAW THE WAY SHE LOOKED AT YOU WHEN YOU SAID MERRY CHRISTMAS. You just STOP!

I began to cry. Tears rolling down my face, Mom, it really is Christmas. People in stores don’t say Merry Christmas any more. They say Happy Holidays. TAKE ME HOME! I don’t want to play this game with you any more. I don’t like being treated like a child. Take me home right now and don’t talk to me any more. And I mean it. She closed her eyes and turned away from me, refused to listen or even look at me.

I sat there panting, staring out the windshield of the car, stunned, and confused. I don’t what to do, Should I take her to the party, should I drive back home. Lord, help me. What do I do? I slowly looked over at mom. I stared at her for a few moments. She opened her eyes, glaring back at me, slowly her eye move into a squint with anger. She opened her mouth in slow motion and her voice came out cold and still. “Take.. Me Home!” I swallowed deep and hard. My body froze. I whispered. “ok", mom” Started my engine back up and slowly headed for the freeway. The drive felt like a life time. She closed her eyes and never said another word to me. She kept her eyes closed and head pointed toward her side window. In absolute silence with mom sitting next to me I drove home. The silence was more piercing than standing alone in a total empty room. I looked out the top of my windshield into the unknowing path of the clouds, I feel like I’m walking through that path, never knowing what I might encounter. I glance over at mom. She looks as though she is sleeping. Finally we pulled up in the driveway.
Are we home? Yes mom. She opened her eyes. Get my chair. I glanced over at her. Opened my door and slowly slipped out of my car. Tears streaming down my face I open my trunk, pulled out her chair. I stopped for a moment…composed myself and opened her door. Without saying a word she slipped herself into her chair. I pushed into the house. The coach, she ordered. I pushed her over to the couch. She stood herself up and over to the coach and lay down. Get me a blanket. Another order, I obeyed, and covered her up. Turn on the T.V. Another order, Again, I obeyed. Turn it up. She commanded this time. I looked at her and stood in front of her in my Christmas dress very still. She glared for a few moments, with sarcasm in her voice, pleaded out, pleeaassee. I broke out a slight smile and turned the sound up. Standing in the middle of the living room I stared at the television for a few moments, then slowly walked away to change my clothes. As I crept down the hall way I paused at my bedroom door and whispered… Merry Christmas mom.

By: Berta Barnett
December 2009

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 31.01.2010

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