Tea with Mom
Her brown eyes were sunken and at half mast, her forehead was beaded with sweat from the fever. Her chest heaved. Her voice was weak and raspy. “I’m going to die” she whispered between coughs. My heart went out to the suffering woman in the bed before me. My brain knew it was not true the thoughts in her head. Treatment in place, her chances were excellent for a complete recovery. She was a young and vibrant mother of seven. She had a number of years ahead of her. History repeats itself and thus her beliefs are real is what she thought.
It’s not hard to imagine. After all, Mom was merely nine when her Dad died of pneumonia. So of course she thought that was her fate. Her spirit to live was shrouded by doubt. Pneumonia, was known as “Captain of the men of death” until treated with Penicillin in the 1940’s. Being a “top killer” pneumonia was now a manageable illness. What my Mom didn’t know was that her Dad hadn’t received antibiotics. Not because it was unavailable but because it was unaffordable. Back in the day my Gramma couldn’t afford it and she had four little ones at home to care for. That was then…and it is still now the unfortunate reality of unaffordability. Fortunately for us, this was not the case at that moment in time.
Being a nurse, I had great hopes for the current treatments available. I wanted to be a cheerleader and the voice of reason backed up by my medical knowledge. However, being frightened, Mom had closed her mind and covered her ears. She refused to think otherwise. I stroked her hand and wiped her brow with a cool towel. I told her I would be back to visit a bit later that evening.
When I returned home I could feel the stress and tension amongst the troops. Four brothers and two sisters, not in uniforms but uniformly down in the dumps. It can be expected that when someone is ill that we might have a fall in mood, be troubled with thoughts and feel like retreating from the front line. In our case, everyone was reluctant to visit mom in the hospital. Like Mom, my brothers and sisters had beliefs too. Questions arose.“I don’t know what to say.” “I’m uncomfortable in hospitals.” “What if I cry?” “How do we know she’ll be okay?”
I ordered pizzas for the ease and to please. Seven sad faces at their assigned places, sat down to dinner. We fed our bellies. I fed their souls.
“Hope is a feeling and like any other feeling, it starts with a thought” I said matter of factly. "Have you noticed that when you worry, it doesn’t feel so good? Or notice how easy it is to scare yourself? How many times have you had a good rest and felt better? Let’s play a game… Let’s think of the wonderful things about Mom." We spoke of good times. We laughed and we sang with memories of sitting on the couch and “singing along with Mitch Miller.” Our lilting voices suddenly turned our upside down faces to smiles. The mood lifted. We recalled a favourite story of all of us. Mom was always singing and laughing. She certainly had a way about her! This fun memory was us kids sitting in the living room adjacent to the kitchen. If Mom wasn’t singing while making dinner, we would subtly hum or whistle a tune and then break into peals of laughter when she belted out our song suggestion! She was tickled too when she realized what we were doing! After all, laughter is the best medicine. Everyone felt better. Our spirits lifted.
The nurse in me educated them about pneumonia. The cheerleader in me educated them about the power of state of mind. The sister in me calmed them and educated them about how to approach the situation. The Care Plan… just pretend we’re having tea at the kitchen table and be yourselves. The water was boiled and the tea party ready. We grabbed the carafe and several mugs. Our plan in place, the troops piled in the car and we were off on our mission.
Entering the halls of the hospital, the loud noises and the unfamiliar smells momentarily ruffled the feathers of the younger children. The stronger teens walked fearlessly toward the room where Mom lay. We paraded in with smiles and open arms. Mom’s weak appearance was shocking to the little ones but once Mom saw all of us, her facial expression could not contain the joy she felt. Her smile revealed to the young ones who was there behind the mask of sickness and ill health.
We surrounded the bed, just as we surrounded the kitchen table every night. With our mugs of tea in hand, we all settled in to the usual conversation of family sharing the day’s activities. One by one, stories made us laugh and cry at the shenanigans and troubles each had experienced that day. Mom lay there listening as she always did, with object care and concern. It was always her dream to be a mom. This was her calling.
One by one, the infusion of love was evidenced in Mom’s facial expression. In her weakened state, she didn’t need to speak. I could see the spirits rise in all the souls gathered around the hospital bed that evening. My Mom’s Irish eyes were smiling. My siblings hearts full of love… the most potent medication.
As you must know, the outcome, the end of the story does not really matter. If Mom died, she was happy for a most wonderful moment. That is all that ever really matters. The moment we are in is all that there is. So, remember to be aware of what you think. Good advice… let your mind take a break from thinking. And don’t miss a moment to steer your mind in the direction of love.
P.S. She did recover.
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What a lovely story. Thanks for sharing!
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P.s.. You had a really good image moment
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Thank you! Image moments are such a treat!
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I did both..., smile and cry. You got me! Love some of the alliteration and the clever wording in this, would have fabulous way to tell a deeply beautiful love story.
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Thank you! True story and using Method Writing is a real joy!
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Lovely story. Profound message. 😊
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Thank you… I believe in Jule’s rule “never make a point without telling a story and never tell a story without sharing a point.”
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