Our Mothers

There are moments when she is very happy. She is happy in her spacious rooms, happy for the companionship. She calls me Mother now...

In 1950, my father passed away, but I didn't know about it until the morning of the funeral. I woke up all excited because not only was it my elementary school graduation, but I was supposed to sing a lullaby that I had composed and written myself...

There was no way I was going to be able to deal with the totality of the situation all at once. I couldn't come to grips with the loss while she was still here. That was too much to ask of myself. I had to stay in the moment, to appreciate every second I still had with her. There would be time later, when it was reality, to face the loss...

The memories of my mother when she was young, strong and fearless are fading. I'm struggling to remember the spark - a fierceness and Herculean strength emanating from her all knowing eyes...

Yitzchak, so grateful for the wife he was bestowed, nominated her for this distinction. "When you have little to give, but don't stop giving, that's special. And that's my wife."

I am a mother. I'm just a different kind of mother. I did not give birth to my child. She was not young in age, but was nevertheless someone who needed to be mothered...

didn't really understand just then, as my brain was still foggy from my nap, but the one thing I did understand was that something had happened to Mommy, and she wasn't there...

She had kept her age from me all this time and unexpectedly revealed a part of herself which was no longer a taboo subject. It's as if she wanted me to know that she was old and vulnerable now...

As recently as ten years ago, when I was still working as a geriatric social worker, I never imagined myself as a full time caregiver...

There is little more painful than having to step up and watch the helplessness and anxiety of a surviving elderly parent...