"Back to Normal"

It's been two months since Mom has been on Tarceva and the turnaround in her health is nothing short of miraculous.  Her recent scans showed significant reduction of cancer in her body and her symptoms from the disease are gone.  Are family is approaching another milestone next week when we gather as a family to "unveil" Murray's headstone and mark the end of the formal mourning period after his passing.

Bari and I are hosting the family at our home after a brief graveside ceremony and Mom has kicked into action to make sure every detail is ready.  Mind you, she's doing this to minimize the work we need to do to host the event - but Mom can be a bit compulsive about completing tasks when she's got them on her "list". First a phone call to ask if we need paper plates, then an email with the same request, followed by a nudge to remind me to respond. I should be able to respect her urgency to finish the planning and a) respond quicker or b) not get annoyed about the whole thing - but I react as is my nature with a bit of attitude and a touch of frustration.

And then I felt guilty.  For the past several months, I've been a doting son - available to do whatever she needed - and ready to take care of her. We were seeing Mom more days than we didn't - stopping by, taking her out to dinner. But in recent weeks - since she's been feeling better I'd begun to notice that we'd retreated to our normal routine. 

Was I taking her for granted?  Did I somehow love her more when she was sick? I feel immensely grateful that she is feeling better with a more optimistic prognosis, but these feelings weren't translating to my day-day interactions.

Yesterday, during our morning call, I shared my observations and asked her if she felt that I'd been mean or rude.  I wanted to be sure I hadn't gone to far - and be sure to apologize if I'd stepped over the line.

Everything is fine, she reassured me.  Better than fine.  Let me tell you a story, she offered, that you may not remember.

She reminded that when my father died our family came together to support each other. My brother and I, who normally were at each other's throat, were inseparable and completely present for each other. We were caring for our mother - together - and put aside our norms of interaction to focus on Dad, on Mom, on each other.

Several weeks after Dad died, Mom remembers hearing a commotion in the family room and went to investigate.  When she arrived, she heard Gary and me screaming at each other about the board game we'd been playing and saw the pieces strewn all over the place after someone had decided the game should end.

Life was returning to "normal". Now that the crisis had passed, we had returned to our comfortable interactions.

When Mom was struggling with her illness, our family surrounded her with support. My brother, my uncle, and I were intensely attentive to every need. We stopped by constantly so she wasn't alone. We invited her to join us for dinner even when we knew she couldn't eat anything beyond chicken and rice. Her grandchildren slept at her house to be sure she was safe when she was having balance problems. Mom felt supported - and immensely grateful for the love that was available to her when she needed it.

But this particular expression of love was also a constant reminder of her illness and frailty. We were worried we might lose her; she was struggling with the symptoms of her disease and from her treatment and feeling exhausted.

Now that the crisis has passed, we've all returned to normal routines. So Mom wasn't annoyed or upset - in fact, she was delighted and grateful that she no longer needed the same level of support. She no longer needed her "three mothers" doting over her all the time (I'd never heard her refer to us that way before yesterday!).  It turns out that my annoyance was a welcome sign that she was well enough that I didn't need to be as careful not to upset her.

She wasn't surprised when I acted a bit annoyed - she is fully aware of her compulsive behavior - and fully used to me being a jerk when she is trying to mark an item on her list complete. We were back to "normal" (and I hope we can stay here!)