The Ups and Downs of Parenting ...Your Parent
I'd like to think that I'm a Mommy's girl, only because I am her ONLY girl.
"To care for those who once cared for us is one of the highest honors" -- Tia Walker
In the Filipino culture, or rather for Asians in general, it is believed that having a daughter is considered a blessing -- for it is they who are tasked with the responsibility of caring of their aging or ailing parents. Unbeknownst to the child, its gender is pre-determined for his or her eventual role in the family -- willingly or unwillingly. Little boys would grow up, marry and be proud bearers of the family name carrying it for as long as they produced a male offspring; while it was the girl’s task to (possibly) get married and eventually take care of their parents when they grow old. I understand the rational back in the day as women rarely had the responsibility to do much of anything but to keep house. However, in our modern times, there is a continuing paradigm shift seen in gender roles, and it is, therefore, unjust to assume this age-old concept. To some, however, this mindset hasn’t changed, people still hold on to the same idea. Which begs the question, in today’s progressive way of life, shouldn’t sons and daughters have equal footing when it comes to caring for their parents?
For those who know me well, they would certainly understand where this tirade is coming from. As the only daughter in my family (it's just my brother Butch and me), I’ve always felt compelled to take charge when it came to preserving the health of my parents -- my mom in particular -- especially since the passing of my dad. My brother does his share of course, but since he has a family of his own to care for, I feel that the responsibility of taking care of my mom falls on me -- the daughter. Since having children, motherly instincts have taken control of almost everything in my life, and the same goes to caring for my mom -- I've taken her under my wings, so to speak.
This is my special alone time with family members who have passed. This quiet time allows me to reflect on the present and give thanks for what they've done for me while they were living. Without them, I wouldn't be the person I am today.
Just to make it clear, no one forced me to take care of my mom; I gladly and willingly do it regardless of any unwritten rule of daughters would have it. I took it upon myself to take charge of her health because I like to render service to my mom. That’s my language of love. I like taking care of my mom because it also makes me happy. I am so glad to see my mom well enough to continue living for 86 years despite a myriad of health issues.
I try and go to her as often as I can within the week with or without my girls -- six days to be exact, not because she asked me to, but because I want to check up on her, to have lunch with her and spend time with her along with my kids. This outburst is merely one of those unceremonious rants that happen to come up every now and then because hey, I am only human. Perhaps it’s also my fault -- maybe I’ve spoiled her too much and always assured her of my presence and dedication ... but I still do it anyway. I do it because I know it makes her happy and she is very appreciative of everything that I continue to do for her.
There are days that ... (sigh) are just more trying than others. Not because the weather is so bad that I can’t get myself out of bed type (although I must admit that the prospect of snuggling under the covers during the height of a storm is more than enough reason for me not to get out of bed), but owning up to the responsibility of taking care of my mom does have its rough cycles. This reversal of roles can sometimes be a wrenching experience for everyone concerned.
Accompanying my mom for checkups in the hospital, making sure that she eats properly, reminding the nurse to update her doctors for any changes in diet or activity day in and day out can take its toll on you. And oh, have I also mentioned the fact that I have my own family to attend to? Of course, not to say that there are days when my mom herself can be difficult (regardless of age, we’re all guilty of being that extra unnerving sometimes). It’s times like these that I just wonder, I wonder if all the effort, all the sacrifices I’ve made for myself and to my family are all worth it. Liliana, my sister-out-law (as she fondly calls herself), has always been keen on putting me right back on track, giving me words of wisdom and encouragement whenever I’m stuck in a rut. She always reminds me that mom is a geriatric patient and there is a reason why Geriatrics is a specific field of medicine -- merely because they need more care, attention and most of all, lots of patience. My husband too, despite the fact that I inevitably spend time away from him and the kids, whenever my mom would need me, still manages to give me the love, support, and understanding that I need to push on.
My forever lunch date happily devouring her favorite dish -- chilled raw oysters with lemon and cocktail sauce.
However, the limits of my patience were severely tested on my 40th birthday. Unfortunately, I had come to grips with two things that morning: I was turning a decade older ... and I was going to spend most (if not all) of my birthday in the hospital with my mom, away from my family. My mom had succumbed to being confined in the hospital after a severe bout of cough all the while refusing doctors orders to stay home. Talk about being stubborn. Barely able to breathe on her own, my mom was in danger of having pneumonia, and at her age, it can be life-threatening. If she had just listened to reason and stayed home to rest, all of this wouldn't happen. Was this destiny’s way of playing a trick on me? I certainly wasn’t laughing. Naturally, the day’s plans had to be changed ... again. I expected to spend my birthday with my family at home doing nothing. Instead, I was stuck in the ER awaiting my mom to be wheeled on to the ICU for observation. Yay! Happy birthday to me!
Later that afternoon, as my husband called to ask how things were doing, I sensed that he wanted me to go home and be with the kids ... I couldn’t blame him. With conflicted thoughts and emotions, I knew had to muster the strength to go home. I know that I have a duty to my mom and see her through while she was at the hospital, but I also know that I have an obligation to my family who also needed me. When all was fine with the doctors, and my mom had woken up from her nap, I told her that I needed to go, my family was waiting for me. I half expected my mom to give me the stare of utter disbelief and dismay because I rarely ever left her side in the hospital, but this was different, it was my birthday after all.
Oh don't let that innocent smile fool you, she can be a handful if she wants to be. Doctors indeed make the worst patients. Here she is smiling for the camera because she was given the go signal to go home from the hospital. Every confinement is an ordeal in itself, and she's not the only one who's glad to go home.
I didn't expect my mom to understand, but she gave me that look that made me feel that we were on the same page somehow because, at that moment, we were both mothers, mothers who each had a role to play, a duty to fulfill. She had to stay in the hospital to get better for her sake and her family, and I had to go to my own. I sensed that my mom realized that she couldn't keep me all to herself ... at least not on my birthday. I guess she recognized my anxiety and just reached out for my hand, squeezed it tight and said, “Thank you, I love you.” I squeezed hers back and said, “You’re welcome, I love you too, Mom.” I learned something valuable then. I learned that it was ok to put my own family's needs first and not feel guilty that I choose them instead of her.
Later that day, I’ve come to realize two things: that behind the (sometimes) grumpy and headstrong façade that my mom shows to those who care for her, she is still very appreciative of the love and effort people show; and that beyond shadow of a doubt, my patience will need extending but never, never to the detriment of my husband and/or my children -- I am a mother too after all. I understood that in the end, caring for elderly parents is an honor you give them for as long as they live while caring for your own family is an honor you provide them for a lifetime.
How about you, do you have a similar story to share?
