#SOL18 Day Four
Three years ago, during the March challenge in 2015, I wrote a simple slice about my mom and how she looked as she walked toward me as I sat waiting on her bed. She was frail, yet strong. Wobbly, yet sturdy. You can read that slice here.
Last night I was “in charge” of my mom because her caregiver was out at a concert with her son. I didn’t mind at all. Sure, things have changed drastically since that slice I wrote 3 years ago. My mom no longer walks gingerly toward me from the bathroom to the bed in her little pink nightgown. She no longer gets ready for bed on her own. She needs help getting up from the couch and walking to the bathroom. Teeth brushing, face washing, toilet going, and nightgown changing all require assistance. From there she must be wheeled into the bedroom and helped to bed.
I retreated back to the couch after this routine was complete, with the T.V. turned down low, I sat down with my glass of wine and reflected.
This past week marked four months since the night I found my mom sitting on her bathroom floor with her right leg twisted in a way that she and I both knew was not good. What we didn’t know was how our lives were about to change in such a drastic way that there was no way we could prepare. Eight hours in the ER, five hours in surgery, four hours of touch-and-go recovery immediately following, forty-eight hours of post-surgery rest, three weeks of sub-acute rehab in the hospital, seven weeks of acute rehab in a skilled nursing facility, and eight weeks of in-home recovery, physical therapy and reacclimating to “normal” home life have led us both to this very night. This evening together was as close to how things used to be as we’ve had in a very long time.
Three years ago, when I sliced about “Tonight,” I felt it in my bones back then that things would most likely get worse from that point, not better. I knew that my precious mother was frail, wobbly, and sometimes forgetful. And yet, I still took the time to appreciate what we had at that very moment.
I have a lot to learn from my three-years-ago self.
Even though this “tonight” looks different from the last “Tonight” I wrote about, I will continue to be grateful. Whether I sip on my wine on my mom’s couch until her caregiver returns for the night or I sip on it down the hall on my own couch, my heart is as full with appreciation as it ever was.
Every day is a blessing.
carrieiswriting 
Interesting idea to look back on an old slice and what has changed. You have a great outlook of appreciating each day with your mom.
What a beautiful post! Every day truly is a blessing. Thank you for sharing and reminding us to appreciate what we have to be grateful for!
I love this post. It is always good to sit and reflect on not only how things have changed but how through it all, you are able to welcome change and uncertainty and be content. Your mom is so lucky to have you!
Funny how much changes and how much things stay the same. Not an easy road you’ve been down but finding the sweet spots along the way is what gets us through.
This post really touched me. I know this has been a long road for you, but all along the way you have found moments of beauty and truth. Sending your mom healing vibes.
Carrie, I remember that post so vividly. That image of your mom, I swear, it is seared in my memory for some reason. I love how you connected that Slice to where you were on this evening. It’s really beautiful. And as always, your love and tenderness for your mom is so evident on the page.
I will say a prayer for both of you as you keep moving on this journey together. Hope you both find healing and grace and love in every moment.
Right now, I’m thinking about how powerful this process of writing really is as a place to grab a moment or an image, and to save it as a way to make some future moment so much more meaningful. “Every day is a blessing” for you because you had somewhere to hold your thoughts so beautifully 3 years ago.