Tuesday, August 7, 2012
My mom left on Sunday.
She was with me for over six weeks. And when I say "with" me, I mean it literally. She stayed at the hospital with me, sleeping on the pseudo-couch in my hospital room, subbing in for the nurses in every way that she possibly could. (It's true. They actually offered her a job because she was so diligent in charting how often I went to the bathroom, down to the cc's yielded each time.) We were in the hospital for 12 days. She came home from the hospital with me and slept on my couch for over a month. She ran my errands, she bought my groceries, she tied my shoelaces when I couldn't bend over. She did my laundry, she set an alarm to get up in the night to give me my medicine, she warmed up my soup and fried my eggs - every day. She made me laugh, and she let me cry. She listened to me. She took care of me. And the whole time she was here, she said that she was happy to be here. Time and again, I'd hear "How lucky are we, to get to spend this much time together? Who else gets this?!".
I love her.
My mother is the kindest, most selfless woman that I'm sure I'll ever know. She is the best nurse, chauffeur, personal shopper and window washer on the face of the earth. She even washed my porches the day before she left, because she knows that I am neurotic enough to be bothered by dirt swirls on cement.
I'm so grateful for the time that I've had with my nursemaid mother over the last two months. (Okay, over the last two years. But most recently, the last two months.) She is, indeed, a really really nice Mormon lady.
Thanks, Mom, for coming. And for staying. I love you!