This was the first time I spoke publicly about Mom moving back into her apartment with me on Halloween 2014. A few months prior neither of us would have imagined this, it was almost as if it were an accident by divine purpose. I had plans to go to Venezuela for some months and was really hoping to have my mother there for many reasons, not least of which I wouldn’t worry about her being alone in Canada if she was simply not so. In August I and a friend took her in her old beat up RV camper (the same one I grew up in during the summer) to her favourite destination. Somehow on this trip or returning from it, she caught pneumonia.
After recovering enough for a discharge, she immediately showed worrying and dangerous signs. After I realized I was complicit in covering up her having done a very dangerous cooking error involving fire hazards & I was hoping to get mom and her “not-quite-right-but mostly-okay” self home with me. I was also still operating on the hope she would recover enough of her senses (or keep them) that we might be able to continue on with Caribbean and Venezuela plans, she could get a little more help but I would basically still be on my own most of the time.
Put in a summation: This post was written by a me both very hopeful and terrified at the same time. I had dealt with mom in several bad confusions, including bus stations in Latin America, that were dangerous and hard to navigate. But I still had no clue and didn’t even know what it was that I was yet to know. I was a man who thought he was to be married and was finding a way to not abandon his mother at the same time. I had no clue I was staring at just such a choice on many different fronts– marriage, work, family, friends, life in many other aspects.
Those realities have hurt, but I had even less of a clue as to the tremendous value in the process that others thought either impossible or without sufficient purpose. Ignorance wasn’t bliss at all, but it provided time to be forced into seeing the real world impacts of all such decisions into the next several years. It was never to be an abstract concept again.
Well, I have held back for the last couple of years from announcing too much of what is happening in my family, but I think today it is time to slightly change that. My mother has visited the hospital three times since the end of the summer– and her COPD (if you don’t know that disease, please look it up for those you love including yourself, as only heart disease and cancer kill more people) has become worse.
She has been living in partial independence for the last 2.5 years, but she will now be returning home to live in her apartment with myself to help fill her gaps in what she needs to do from day to day.
I must admit, I have had a Hell of a time allowing myself to feel much of this; moms issues over the last decade have me almost numb to her issues sometimes (as in, it all seems almost rehearsed sometimes).
The city of Burnaby has done more in the last couple of years to offer several different support services that have as the goal– the only acceptable goal to myself and my mother– of keeping people who need help away from the “prison for the innocent” as I call it. The ability to get support, her continued love of life and desire to do everything from travel abroad to just getting outdoors in a real way are very much there, as is my joy in her company. Her struggles with some things have started to become ever more problematic– and I’ll spare details but the short of it is she is a bit dangerous to be alone for too long.
The building she has been in for the last 2.5 years, while far too expensive, has been wonderful for us in many ways– she has remained in her neighborhood, gone out at will and has good friends among her neighbors. Most importantly, they allowed moms amazing cat to stay with her, and will be trying to get along with my cat soon enough. She will be continually involved in that place even after moving here, home.
Taking this on is a lot frightening, but moms spirit and the reward of more time with her has made this easier to take. That there are support systems of this type is a very rare thing; with no guilt at all let me announce that there is no doubt that this is both imperialist and white privilege in action. But let me also say one general point about our dying society I have learned over the last (almost) ten years.
Individualism in imperialist countries has so poisoned us as human beings, so warped our values that I have (if you are one of them– I still love you!) had countless friends over the last several years continually congratulate me for being willing to spend a lot of time helping my mother, even though I am an adult with a life. While the compliment is well meaning and I appreciate it, let me add this: It’s only been white people, and almost exclusively men. My friends of color– in particular, those who did not grow up in an imperialist country, have often told me they like my mother, and have done nice things for her, but see very little in what I am doing and have done to compliment. When your family gets sick, you drop what is going on and you help them. The notion it is a “choice” is a cultural representation of a selfish society– and one where everything (comparatively speaking, not at all in absolutes) is handed to you and bothers can be purchased out of existence.
I should no more be admired for giving a few years of part time love and support to the woman who gave me 30 with full time support first than a country that pillages, pollutes and kills people for resources and has helped create climate change should be applauded for cutting carbon emissions. You just do what it is your role to do– especially if you play a role in the problem in the first place.
I remember this most strongly when I was in a cab trying to get to the airport and home when mom was in a bad spot. I was a mess, confused and obviously not thinking straight and the cabbie asked me why. I told him mom was sick, he asked about my dad… told him he wasn’t alive, he asked about siblings, I said none as far as my mother is concerned… “Oh,” he said, “You have to go,” matter of factly. I asked him where he grew up; he told me of his life in Port-Au Prince, Haiti. Nuff said
I have a lot of important writing to work on; the last few months have been, in part, setting myself up so that I have the work that makes me happy to do while the honor of helping my mother live and do so in dignity is not in competition. I am lucky, in that sense.
This is aimed at no one in particular, but I wanted to let people know– it’s hard to state this– I have had a harder and harder time saying “I need help.” or “I need friends to get me out of the house,” etc. I aim at no one here, but I do ask that people who care try and check in once in awhile– I will never own a smart phone– and know I often clam up even with the chance to vent, pretending it’s all good.
Doing things for mom is all good. But life is getting a little harder and perhaps it’s the Harper talking, but it also often feels a lot more bleak.
Hey, at least the Canucks, even if they ain’t anyone’s contender, are actually fun to watch! Shortly after mom gets moved back in here home I’ll make sure the two of us get to go to one of our lovely Canucks home games. And life will continue, as there is always next season.
Love you all, mostly, anyhow 