She had to lie flat on her back for 30 minutes after the wonderful nurse removed her central line. Mom had closed her eyes. She looked at peace. And, she looked vulnerable.
She wouldn't be able to act upon anything that came upon her. And, for the first time, I saw my mom as how she will eventually look inside a coffin at her funeral. I'm not trying to be morbid. In a way, I think the events of the past few months have been preparing me for the inevitable. That, I will one day, bury my parents.
Seeing my mom the way I did and thinking of what lays ahead, hopefully, in the very distant future, is not something one should have to picture of their loved one. It's a reality that we're not exposed to on a regular basis. And, when it happens, it slaps us directly in the face. In a place where it will hurt. And, hurt for a very long time.
Today, I have my mom. She's moving gingerly around the house, without the aid of a walker. She's excited about travel plans to some national parks later in July. She's excited about her second grand-daughter being close by at the University of Arkansas later this fall. She wants to live .... until she's at least 100.
For now, I'll just take things one day at a time. And our vulnerability, I'll leave to someone greater than me. He'll keep me safe and protected. He's in control. That's what matters.
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