Tears of Strength

I cried today. Not that there is anything wrong with that, there is nothing to be ashamed of in crying, to allow pain to flow in liquid form, give it substance. Crying is underrated. However, when it occurs in the office of your boss it causes a bit of 'loss of face'. Or could, unless you work with people who understand, people who care, people who know there is more to you than your job title or your responsibilities. Today I got a sympathetic ear and a hug along with the acknowledgement that everyone has something. Something that lives with them, something we put aside while we work, work to solve the problems of others, others with difficulties beyond ours.

It occurs to me that through this blog, through this internet 'outing' of my story, I inadvertently exposed my family to the public, left the windowshades up in our living room so everyone can look in and watch our life without our knowledge, without permission. But I granted permission, without consent of my mother or my family I granted permission for the world to watch us lose her. I'm not sure how I feel about that. Selfish? Probably. My mother knows nothing of my public exposure of her. Is this yet another betrayal?

While I wonder how many more ways I will find to betray my mother I read your posts, your e-mails, listen to your voice mails (I've saved several and listen to them over and over) and remind myself that what you say isn't how sorry you feel for us, what a shame it is that this has happened to my mother, our family, but what it was like when it happened to you, what scares you as you look into your future and see yourselves walking the path we now walk. You talk to me of comfort, of the burden shared, of the relief that the emotions, the fears and worries you feel are common among those who take this journey. What I hear from you is "don't stop".

I did not intend to lead the way. This is not a sojourn I volunteered for and would shed it immediately if given the choice. I don't particularly admire the way I handle things or relish the thought of more to come, the thought that it will get worse, that we will lose even more of our mother before we come to the end of this. Those thoughts are too big a burden, too much to hold through the busy days of work faced with the problems of health care in crisis or in these quiet hours of the weekends at my mother's house. But while I did not choose this, it is mine. Mine to handle, to hold. I have no choice. The sheer magnitude of that thought alone both bolsters and weakens me. Raises me up and brings me to my knees.

And so we walk this together. My family now, others before us, more to follow. We hope and we pray and we lean on each other and learn from each other. We hold fast to the memories we have knowing they may be soon lost or like others, long held. But either way we walk together with strength and dignity, humor and compassion and along the way shed a multitude of tears that sometimes cling to our throats, sometimes flow freely in the quiet of the night or worse yet, appear at inopportune moments. Regardless of when they surface, my tears will continue, will fall when the need is there, when the loss becomes too large. In that way I will honor my mother not betray her.