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What if the Roles Were Reversed?
Copyright (c) Nov. 1998 Debi Gentry |
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I have often wondered if my mother were in my shoes how she would relate to my situation. Also I often ponder how I would react if I were confined to a wheelchair in a nursing home.
Memories flood my mind. Ours was a loving, caring home. If as children we were hurt physically or emotionally mother was there to patch us up and send us on our way rejoicing. Tears often filled her eyes as she listened to my cries of emotional pain during the adult crises I experienced. If anyone in my family fell ill she was always there to help in any way she could. I felt she was a god send. |
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But life has a way of changing. Gradually our roles were reversing. Alzheimer's disease slowly but irrevocably was destroying her brain. My mother's safety was in jeopardy. She would turn on the stove and not even realize it was hot. She almost injured herself trying to climb up to unlock the doubly-secured front door. The stress of caring for my mother was also destroying my father's health. Selfishly we wanted to keep her at home, but reality told us this would be impossible. |
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We had to make a painful decision, an agonizing decision. I knew my precious mother needed round-the-clock care in order to protect my father's health, but we could not afford private nursing. There was only one alternative. |
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Now I walk through the heavy double doors at the Oak Haven Nursing Home. Eyes, some with an absent stare, focus on me as I step past lonely faces. I look down the long row of wheelchairs searching for a special little lady. Suddenly I see her shining eyes with a pitiful, helpless expression. I notice the inroads of osteoporosis on her bent back. In spite of her struggles she musters up that all-too-familiar sweet, precious smile. She struggles with her "cobwebby" brain. The short-circuited neurons won't connect. Try as hard as she can the words simply won't break through to her mouth in intelligible, connected sentences. |
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My heart rushes to my throat. Tears threaten to spill over my cheeks. I can't let her know the depth of my feelings, so on goes the strong unemotional mask. I rush over and gently place her hand in mine. I must give her a moment of happiness without tears, for this moment is priceless. |
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Does she feel I have betrayed her? Are the decisions I have made for her the ones she would have wanted? Questions like these haunt me as I see her in these surroundings. |
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Caring hands supply her needs for which I am deeply grateful, and inwardly I know God led in placing her here.
Thoughts such as "These people don't love mom like I do" are gradually fading away. I realize Jesus loves her more than I could ever love her and will take good care of her wherever she is. There will always be someone He can use to show her His love and compassion. |
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A promise I claim for my mother is 2 Cor. 12:9: "My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness." This bookmark prose has also encouraged me.
He giveth His strength to the weak and weary,
He giveth His mercy like showers from above,
And day after day,
Without end or beginning,
He keepeth His children
Whom He giveth His love!
I find "Casting all (my) cares upon Him; for he careth for (me)" (1 Peter 5:7) brings me strength to cope.
However the days when I feel I am really sinking under the load I just remember "The things which are impossible with men ARE POSSIBLE with God" (Luke 18:27)
How earnestly I pray that if the roles were reversed I would be the daughter my mother would have been! |
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