Listening to the Nudges – Little Mim
About three years ago, sitting in church, I received an invitation to consider a small way I can make a difference weekly. I listened and somehow knew this was important. What came to my mind was to be more consistent and diligent in visiting my mother-in-law, who I referred to as ‘Little Mim’ for she was below 5’ weighing in at 95 lbs. But don’t ever let her diminutive appearance fool you, for she was able to stand her ground fully.
And so began the journey to honor that commitment. Almost every week when I was in town I allocated some of my time to spend an hour with her. Many times I really didn't want to go. Often I felt resistant as to why I was visiting and it didn't ‘seem’ like her children were. After all, this really wasn't my mother, was what I used to justify those less than kind thoughts. Yes, I watched lots of selfish thoughts come and go, all part of the journey, all my teachers.
Little Mim began to look forward to these visits and at some level so did I. When she moved into assisted living, her dementia increased and she could no longer make her own coffee using the Keurig. The sequence of steps was just too complicated for her despite me printing it out in large letters, and showing her again and again how it worked and really could result in a cup of ‘good’ coffee. She loved her coffee. Alone, when she tried often resulted in water or coffee of some nature overflowing all over the place. It was just too hard to accomplish alone.
So I began to plan my weekly visits to be mid morning and to fix her a cup of coffee. Almost every visit I would experience a deep laugh with her; it reminded me how little she laughed and how important that is for all of us. So in addition to preparing her coffee, the goal was to get her to laugh.
She did tell me stories of what it was like when she was a child, and of her days as a nurse. One day our conversation found her reliving the experience of giving birth to a child that did not survive. It was as if she was living fully through that experience again; there were tears and it felt like she was somehow reconciling what had happened. Other days she’d share a bit of shopping trips. Or how her grandmother was such an excellent seamstress and made her beautiful clothes. Of her son, my husband, going along with her two daughters on shopping trips before school started and how this anything but welcomed by him or her. We'd laugh over her memories.
Before she moved into assisted living, the recognition that it was time to move was slow to come and full of resistance. She didn't want to lose her space and more importantly her independence. Often she reminded me that once people moved into assisted living they rarely came out… And she was right. This aging journey for her was progressively downhill.
During one of our coffee chats she shared that she had awakened that morning and recognized that a piece of her mind was missing. I was mesmerized by this telling and I asked her what it was like. She shared that she didn't exactly know and yet part of it was like she knew pieces of information were gone that she had just accessed in what felt like yesterday. I could be present to her in a way children cannot. I think this is one of the reasons I was prompted to make that commitment. It is my observation that children and parents have their own roles of how they behave around one another based on the history of caregiver/ child, and it's often difficult to make the transition to be in an adult to adult relationship.
As her dementia increased, the level of care increased, the ability to have a conversation declined as did her ability to move and eat. Her aptitude for life had already been decreasing, being legally blind and mostly deaf added more isolation. I think at some point the human decides it is too much of a struggle. Over the last few months my visits were shorter and increasingly shifting. She often slept. Sometimes mumbling about something and sometimes asking for my opinion or just sharing. I could always assure her that whatever she decided it would be okay because I knew it would, despite not having a clue what we were talking about. Sometimes I'd offer her Reiki when she was sleeping or just sit by her bed and hold her hand - if she would let me.
She left her physical body in October. Her daughter was there with her. Her passing marks the end of a chapter and yet my grieving was done 20 months earlier. During a particularly trying time for her, as her physical abilities were declining, I asked what I could do to help her. She was half standing, half sitting and afraid to move either way. She was extremely frustrated; understandably so as this aging process is not for the faint of heart. She looked me in the eye and said ‘I do not want to live anymore.’ This struck me to the core. It was the first time I saw and felt in a visceral way this journey of aging and how it was impacting her. And that is when I grieved. And that is when I wondered about answers yet to be shown.
I am grateful for the time I spent with her. For making that commitment over three years ago. It has been a teacher. An ongoing invitation to be present without expectation to another person. It showed me how resentments hinder, releasing expectations matter and reinforced the importance of showing up to a commitment regardless. I'm grateful for the coffee she drank because I sat with her.
My life has been changed because of this commitment over the three plus years. My gratitude is for the time spent together, for releasing, allowing, resenting, stepping forward and back, and allowing it to be my teacher. I think Little Mim is grateful too.