Please Take Care of My Mom - Brief Article

My heart is breaking. I didn't expect this when my 86year-old mother, Lindy Eareckson, came out to California several months ago to visit Ken and me for a few days. It meant juggling a few appointments, but that was no problem. This was my mom and time with her, I knew, would be precious.

A few days stretched into many weeks. Again, no problem. It meant putting my wheelchair on extra slow speed. Arthritis and a heart condition has shortened my mother's stride and, so, I set aside more commitments. After all, she's not an interruption; she's my mother. There's an old saying that goes, "A contented man is the one who enjoys the scenery along the detours." For three-and-a-half months, I've been on a detour with my mom.

She and I do great together. I'm her eyes (and her mind when her thinking gets a bit fuzzy), and she is my hands. At the supermarket, I carry the basket on my lap and Mom reaches for cans on the top shelf. Like I told her, Mother, together we almost make up a complete person." We start the day singing a hymn together. Then she helps me open the mail. She feeds me turkey sandwiches for lunch and has organized the colored pencils in my art studio. Home on the Maryland farm, she was tucked away in the family farmhouse back on a country road, and most of her days were spent puttering. California and "helping Joni" has been much more interesting.

Good things come to an end and Ken and I put Mom on the plane last week. Things felt strange. I didn't have anyone sitting in the passenger seat as I drove to work... shopping wasn't as much fun... mail waited to get opened. Ken and I missed her.

The first night she was gone, I laid awake thinking about my mother making-do on the farm. I whispered, 'God, please take care of my mom." Peace settled over my troubled heart. I have learned that there are few things more sweet than looking out for the needs of others, especially when it means making a dent in your own schedule. And in some ways, I feel more human.

Even though my mom's back in Maryland, I'm still liking the detour -- the slower speed and the singing of hymns. I called her this morning and asked her, "What's the hymn for the day?" She began singing, "God Will Take Care of You."

That's what God's doing: taking care of my mom.

COPYRIGHT 2000 Cheever Publishing, Inc.
COPYRIGHT 2001 Gale Group