In 2015, my mother passed away. It followed over a year of hospital visits, nursing home stays, countless hours of in-home care provided by my siblings and me, and a few weeks of hospice. It was a hard year in many ways, but one amazing gift came from that time. My siblings and I came together to care for our mom, and we developed a friendship that still brings me great joy.
Difficult situations, especially the death of a parent, can tear families apart. My parents used to tell us stories of people they knew who stopped speaking to their siblings when the will didn’t turn out the way they hoped, or someone wasn’t pulling their fair share, or who knows what other things might lead to falling out of favor with one another. My parents said that nothing was worth that.
I think if they saw us today, they would be overjoyed.
About a year after Mom died, I really began to think about writing my story. Our story. The text messages we shared and the laughter we experienced in the midst of the pain seems like something other people might benefit from. I am not the only one of my peers who has cared for an aging parent in their final days/months/years. I am not the only working mom who was barely holding it together trying to raise kids, pay bills, and serve an ailing parent. I knew there were people who could connect with my story, but I also knew there was something important in this story that needed to be told.
I wanted to life the spirits of other “sandwich generation” people.
I wanted to remind people of the importance of faith and family.
I wanted to offer hope that there is an end insight (for better or for worse), and it will be okay.
It took eight years and many versions before it was published. It went from memoir to novel. It took me so long and I wrote and re-wrote things, that there are things that even I can’t remember if they were real or fiction. However, the basic are true. I do have two siblings. Our mom did have a lengthy illness that consumed over a year of our lives. We really do like each other and hang out now more than we ever did before. We really did mingle laughter and tears together in a way that I hope can offer healing to someone else.
I told a lot of messy details (some true, some fiction) about my mother. I know she isn’t here to be embarrassed, but if she were, I hope she would see it as a labor of love to memorialize our family. If you read something about my mom that makes you smile and think of her fondly – that was all true. If you feel the need to crinkle your nose and wonder if that really happened – assume that’s the fiction part. I know she’d be proud of my accomplishment, but even more so she’d be praising God that despite all the bickering she had to endure when we were kids, in the end, we love each other.
Thank you, Mom, for the inheritance you left us in each other.
Oh, and the Saran wrap. I’m still using it.