It’s almost 4PM and I’m still in my jammies. You see, I have laryngitis (Thanks Judi Perry-conscientious editor, for the correct spelling), a cold, and a low-grade fever. No one in my house cares with the exception of my 89-year-old mother.
My college-aged son is cramming for a speech that he started today and is due today. My husband is desperately trying to coerce tourists into fishing aboard our boat, The Gypsy. Mom is sleeping in her uncomfortable, lift-chair in the cheery, green room that is now her home. She’s protecting her weekly-old-lady-hairdo with her shiny, white sleeping cap. It rests precariously on top of her head as she reads the latest in Christian fiction.
Mom is our only living parent. Tom’s Father and Mother both died a few years ago, and my father died in November of 2007. So my mom is the only one in the entire planet who still cares that her 50-year-old baby has a cold. In fact, while checking on her several times during the afternoon, she has advised me first to put Vicks on my throat, then tongue, and lastly she advised me to take a nap.
I’m going to remember that when she’s confused in the mornings and still thinks Dad is alive. I’m going to remember that when we take our walks and she stops to talk, because she can’t walk and talk at the same time. I’m going to remember that when it gets harder and harder to take care of her, or even if the Lord decides to take her in her sleep. (We’ve discussed meeting our maker while in sleeping mode, and both agreed that it got our vote.)
And, I’d miss her. But for now, she’s here and I’m glad.
Right now, I think I’ll put Vicks on my throat and take a nap. But I draw the line at Vicks on the tongue. Besides, I have yet to brush my teeth.