up a word in the English language.
Caring for a 98-year old mother who is one of the most independent spirits you can possibly imagine has been quite an educational experience for us.
She has had the same wonderful doctor for a quarter of a century. He doesn’t think her lungs will last another six months and it’s very obvious that her strength has diminished rapidly during this summer and the heat.
I told him: “Don’t bet the under!”
Her mind is very sharp. Like, very, very sharp! Every social worker and medical member sees her and questions her aptitude until they converse briefly. She remembers every element of her life and can tell you anything you want to know about what she knows about being born in 1919 – when Woodrow Wilson was President of the United States and women weren’t allowed to vote.
When she arrived at our condo two weeks ago, we really weren’t sure she would survive to see the 4th of July. But we’ve managed to nurse her back up and are trying to communicate with someone who is failing in a lot of ways but trying so hard to be strong. She can’t text. She can’t see a phone well enough to dial. She’s hard of hearing and does better with deep voices than high-pitched sounds. She’s walking with a walker but barely. She can only go about 10 or 15 feet at a time now. There have been mishaps and Depends and major bathroom and couch cleanups.
After fighting for her own life for three years and having her life saved by a team of nurses, my wife Jenn has become part Hazel, part Alice. My wife has been nurse, counselor, butler, maid and interpreter all in one. (Her most impressive act has been part-MacGyver, installing a doorbell in the rear of our condo that works on one press that plays the intro to Paul McCartney and Wings “Let ‘Em In.” I love it. Kitty considers it the music of a feline Satan.)
8Mom has also been requesting fried eggs and bacon. (“Crispy. Extra crispy!” Or else!)
Really, at this point, we just want to give her whatever she wants.
I’m going to learn a lot more on the rest of this journey. I hope to share some of it with you as I continue to do the best sports media work in the Baltimore marketplace on a daily basis. We’re still going to London in two weeks to scout for our big September trip with the Ravens. But we’ll also be spending as much time as possible with my Mom, who we already kinda miss on our couch after two weeks of intense survival techniques and learning the tendencies of the woman who raised me (and several other neighborhood strays) as her own amidst a storm of crazy stories that one day might tell the story of my life.
My mom has survived for 25 years without my Pop, who left us on July 11, 1992. As an infant, I was given a miracle shelter by them in a very, very fucked up family situation in 1970 and they raised me as their own, even though I was their best friends’ grandson. My mom lost her youngest child to a freak drowning in the summer of 1969. I was a “replacement” child and a very spoiled youngster. So, now all of the random kindness and mad attention they showed me in the 1970s and 1980s will be repaid as we try to celebrate the life of Liz and keep her as comfortable and happy as you can be nearing 98 and struggling for independence, strength, breath and life.
Her mind is not the problem. As she approaches 98 years young, it’s her body that’s failing. Her lungs are the primary problem but her vision and hearing are also not great. And as much as she would roll on her Winnie Walker wheelie all around Dundalk over the past decade, it now takes a toll on her
