Being Cared For

I've always hated those questions people ask about what would you do if you knew you only had, insert time, left to live. I guess because it was always hard to imagine getting that kind of news.  Except for the scare in high school in which I was diagnosed with scarlet fever (my only reference to the disease was watching Little House on the Prairie and people died), I have been relatively healthy.  Just the normal colds, flu, strep throat, and such.  I still have a hard time imagining it for myself, but have a new perspective to the question with regard to someone I love. 

When my mom told me of her diagnosis and that the average time from diagnosis to death was generally four to six months, I began thinking about what I wanted to do in that short time.  The first few things were obvious; make sure she had good medical care, a plan for pain management, a plan for home health care, and a plan for the end.  But the overwhelming thing I wanted to do was care for her.  I wanted to be there to take her to the doctor, help her with medications, help her get things done that were important to her to get done, help her in anyway I could.  The problem was that she was in Arizona and I was in Texas running a household of teenagers.  The good thing was that her husband and my siblings were with her to care for her and help her.  I was thankful, yet still longed to be there.

As it turned out, my mom applied to be in a study with some new treatments for cancers like hers close to my home.  She didn't qualify, but ended up staying at my house for two weeks due to an infection in her port.  I almost feel bad saying this, but I've never been so thankful for an infection.  During those two weeks, not only did all of us spend treasured time together, but I was able to care for my mom in a way I've never been able to do.  You see, this was not my mom's first serious illness or cancer.  She was a strong, independent woman and wanted to do things for herself.  This time, however, she needed help and was physically close. 

I'm not sure why the drive to care for her was so strong, but I think it partially stemmed from the difficulties we had in the past.  My caring for her was my way of physically demonstrating the love and forgiveness I offered her in spoken and written words that she sometimes had trouble believing.  It was my way of extending grace and mercy to her that I had received and knew she needed to experience.  It was a beautiful as she was vulnerable and open and allowed me to care for her. 

To allow someone to care for me. That is my answer to the question of what I would do. There is extraordinary intimacy created when we are vulnerable and open to let someone care for us.  Too often I miss that because I am too proud, stubborn, or self sufficient to admit I need help.  I don't want to miss out anymore....