From a Hospice Worker to the Sons of Mothers
From a Hospice Worker to the Sons of Mothers
04/19/2016 05:19 pm ET
John Connor
Author, ‘The Spiritual Danger of Perfectionism (and how to overcome it)’
I work as a counselor in Hospice. This is a quick request of you guys out there who have mothers who are either under Hospice care, or in a nursing home.
Go see Mom.
Your Mom is getting sicker, possibly is developing dementia, and is physically frail. I know — It is uncomfortable to visit her, because she was the best mother ever, and you just don’t want to remember her this way.
I get it. I am one of you. She is special, and you hold her in your heart like no one else. You can’t have your memories of her be of this sickly old woman at the end of her life, right?
You are precious to her, which you know. She loves your sisters, too, yet it is in a different way. One difference is that mothers and daughters often have very difficult separation dramas in the daughter’s teens and twenties. But we sons don’t.
Then, daughters eventually become close, sisterly friends with their mothers by their later 20s or 30s. But we don’t.
You and I are our Mom’s boys, and we always will be. Our mothers cherish our visits, seemingly more than our sister’s visits. In part because, as you know, our sisters are consistently there. They are with Mom regularly, perhaps Mom even lives with your sister.
That is the reason that daughters don’t need to read this — they are already “all in” with Mom. Your sisters are changing Mom’s bed linens, helping her to the bathroom, making her food. And they have to listen to her questions: “Where is my son? When is he coming?”
You don’t come to visit, though, because —
“I can’t see her that way, it’s too depressing. I just can’t.”
No.
No, that’s not true. You can. Because your visits to your Mom are not actually about you. It’s about her, your mother. The very reason you don’t want to see her that way is because she was such a robust, loving, and inspirational presence in your life.
Your concerns about how you will remember her after she is gone are not really relevant. You, probably the youngest son, are being too delicate with yourself. Once you put aside the boyish focus on how you will feel, and embrace how your mother will be blessed — yes, blessed — by your visits, it will make sense.
Go and visit your mother. Your first visits can be short. Bring her some pictures and look at them together. Bring her some food and eat together.
You don’t have to stay for hours, and you don’t have to talk the whole time. You, simply being nearby, will bring her joy. You and your siblings sharing stories in her room, even if she’s not “with it” enough to converse, will make her week. I know, because I’ve seen it in my patient’s faces.
As for how you will remember her? Don’t worry. My Mom had advanced Alzheimer’s when she died, and had lost most of her normal self before that. It is not how I want to remember her. And I do not remember her that way. I have many rich memories of my Mom, and old photos that help trigger them. You will retain your favorite memories, too, and be able to see her old self in photographs.
But that is all after she’s gone. Right now she is alive, and all she wants is to see you, her little boy. She deserves that from you. Now go see her.
John Connor is a spiritual care counselor for Kindred at Home Hospice in Austin, Texas.
Follow John Connor on Twitter: www.twitter.com/connor_rev
More:
Alzheimer’s Common Grief Death & Dying Mothers And Daughters Mothers And Sons
From a Hospice Worker to the Sons of Mothers
04/19/2016 05:19 pm ET
John Connor
Author, ‘The Spiritual Danger of Perfectionism (and how to overcome it)’
I work as a counselor in Hospice. This is a quick request of you guys out there who have mothers who are either under Hospice care, or in a nursing home.
Go see Mom.
Your Mom is getting sicker, possibly is developing dementia, and is physically frail. I know — It is uncomfortable to visit her, because she was the best mother ever, and you just don’t want to remember her this way.
I get it. I am one of you. She is special, and you hold her in your heart like no one else. You can’t have your memories of her be of this sickly old woman at the end of her life, right?
You are precious to her, which you know. She loves your sisters, too, yet it is in a different way. One difference is that mothers and daughters often have very difficult separation dramas in the daughter’s teens and twenties. But we sons don’t.
Then, daughters eventually become close, sisterly friends with their mothers by their later 20s or 30s. But we don’t.
You and I are our Mom’s boys, and we always will be. Our mothers cherish our visits, seemingly more than our sister’s visits. In part because, as you know, our sisters are consistently there. They are with Mom regularly, perhaps Mom even lives with your sister.
That is the reason that daughters don’t need to read this — they are already “all in” with Mom. Your sisters are changing Mom’s bed linens, helping her to the bathroom, making her food. And they have to listen to her questions: “Where is my son? When is he coming?”
You don’t come to visit, though, because —
“I can’t see her that way, it’s too depressing. I just can’t.”
No.
No, that’s not true. You can. Because your visits to your Mom are not actually about you. It’s about her, your mother. The very reason you don’t want to see her that way is because she was such a robust, loving, and inspirational presence in your life.
Your concerns about how you will remember her after she is gone are not really relevant. You, probably the youngest son, are being too delicate with yourself. Once you put aside the boyish focus on how you will feel, and embrace how your mother will be blessed — yes, blessed — by your visits, it will make sense.
Go and visit your mother. Your first visits can be short. Bring her some pictures and look at them together. Bring her some food and eat together.
You don’t have to stay for hours, and you don’t have to talk the whole time. You, simply being nearby, will bring her joy. You and your siblings sharing stories in her room, even if she’s not “with it” enough to converse, will make her week. I know, because I’ve seen it in my patient’s faces.
As for how you will remember her? Don’t worry. My Mom had advanced Alzheimer’s when she died, and had lost most of her normal self before that. It is not how I want to remember her. And I do not remember her that way. I have many rich memories of my Mom, and old photos that help trigger them. You will retain your favorite memories, too, and be able to see her old self in photographs.
But that is all after she’s gone. Right now she is alive, and all she wants is to see you, her little boy. She deserves that from you. Now go see her.
John Connor is a spiritual care counselor for Kindred at Home Hospice in Austin, Texas.
Follow John Connor on Twitter: www.twitter.com/connor_rev
More:
Alzheimer’s Common Grief Death & Dying Mothers And Daughters Mothers And Sons
