A Change of Heart – Healing with Mother

For as long as I could remember, my mother and I had never been close. I’m sure she held me as a young child and of course she loved me, but as I was growing up and into adulthood, I never felt connected to her.

Over the years, I always envied my girlfriend’s relationships with their mothers. I would look at the spark between two generations of women – the sharing, laughing, confiding and I wish I had that. We seemed to try to meet, mother and I but it never really happened.

As time wore on, I abandoned any idea of a meaningful relationship with her. Happily, I married and gave birth to two beautiful daughters with whom I am very close. Now adults themselves, I consider them my best friends. This, I reasoned was worth the distance that I felt with my own mother. Still, I thought, wouldn’t it be wonderful if there could be a healing between me and Mom before she died.

Every night for fifteen years, I sent a loving prayer to my mother – that was the least I could do. I tried to focus on the good things I felt about my mother - her courage since the death of my father, her independence and desire to do things for herself, her love of classical music and most important, her strong faith and regular church attendance, the foundation of my own spirituality.

Then, the day before I was to leave for a speaking engagement, I got a panic call from my sister. “Come quick, Mom’s in the emergency ward – she’s just had a stroke.” As I sped to the hospital I thought – OK, this is it. Maybe she’ll just die and this whole thing will be over.”

I peered over the steel bars on the hospital bed to see this pale, frail woman- my mother, seemingly comatose. I said a prayer, “Thy will be done, O Lord.”

“She has had a massive stroke,” the doctor said. “Her whole left side has been affected. “Fortunately, we have her on a brand new IV procedure designed to break up the clot, which is affecting the flow of oxygen to her brain. Lets hope it works.”

I looked down at Mom, her eyes fluttering, her speech slurred. Could she respond?

“Squeeze my hand,” the nurse said. No response. “Lift your leg,” she encouraged.

No response. We all waited, watched and chatted with low voices and grave faces as the IV monitor blipped its vital signs.

The nurse reappeared. “Mary,” she said, “Who is that standing beside you?” “That’s my daughter Caroline,” she said in a clear voice. “Can you squeeze your left hand?” She squeezed it perfectly. “Lift your left leg.” No problem. It was a miracle. Just twenty minutes before, things had looked bleak. Now she was responding well.

That was six months ago. Now she is at home and gaining strength. She’s in a walker – wobbly and frail but she’s managing. This is a whole new chapter.

Gone is the brittle distant woman with her judgments and criticism. Gone is the person I resented visiting. I have welcomed my mother into my heart.

We haven’t much time – maybe weeks, maybe months. Who knows? We’re having a wonderful time. I can stroke her hair, kiss her cheek, hold her hand and tell her I love her and mean it. Our relationship is an answer to a prayer. I take her swimming and do her errands. It’s a pleasure. Last week when I took her swimming, the lifeguard lowered the handicapped chair into the pool. As I helped my mother out of the chair and into the water, I held her in my arms. I looked up and said “Thank-you God, at last I have a mother.”