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When I'm 92


"Mary, help! Mary, come get me!" I quickly ran from the kitchen to find my dear Mom Ruth smushed on the floor in between the toilet and bathtub. Oh, no, my precious Mom had fallen! Frantically, I mustered strength to pick her up. I breathed a prayer of relief that she only suffered bruising without any fractures. She has already had her share of breaks from previous falls. I gently cleaned her up and safely returned her back to her apartment that evening. On my way home, I couldn't help but think that someday when I'm 92 years old, I hope that I'll have someone who will come running and pick me up when I teeter and fall . . .

But all that is now a memory. From that fall, Mom had more difficult days which ended her up in the hospital, then the care center, and finally into a new assisted living apartment. Too many changes for one so fragile, not just physically, but mentally and emotionally also. I heard her complete frustration and deeply felt her exhaustion with life that had become so hostile to her desires and wishes. Some days I was at a loss on how to help or what to do. I found myself just praying for her to be at peace, and to somehow demonstrate a loving calmness whenever I spent time with her. Someday when I'm 92, I hope someone will bring peace and calmness to my troubled soul when life seems to be going so awry . .

But tonight is different. She was eagerly awaiting my arrival to bring her to my house. As soon as we pulled into the garage, she happily sighed, "I'm home now!" She dutifully used her walker and joined me like always in the kitchen. Once again, I found myself so enjoying her company. It was like having my own Mom and Dad back with me! She had a wonderful appetite for my fish tacos, and we topped those off with a slice of Lemon Meringue pie and hot spiced tea. We even indulged in a few chocolates that she had saved for me from Valentine's Day. But the best part was just unloading our hearts to one another. Oh, how I hope that I'll have someone who will bring me home for dinner when I'm 92. . .

Sometimes, I struggle with being ordinary and not racking up significant achievements in my life. Yet, somehow I think that being somebody for my Mom Ruth of 92 years counts for more than any of my lofty aspirations. Loving one another is still the greatest gift to give, and I'm sure that when I'm 92, it will be the best one for someone to give back to me . . .

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