Who are your heroes?

Recently I was with a group of people and we were asked, “Who are your heroes?” Who do we admire, alive or deceased, that has shown great courage, is of noble character, or has influenced us through their actions. The group was listing many well known people such as Mayo Angelo, Mother Teresa and Nelson Mandela. There was no pondering this one, my Mom is my hero.

You see, just over a year ago, I got the call, it was my Dad, his voice frantic, “You’re Mother’s had a stroke….” I remember running out the door and within minutes I was in emergency, by her side, as more family arrived. I held her hand and caressed her head. Her swollen head. She had landed face down, the impact bruising and disfiguring her beautiful face.

Emergency staff hustled about her, assuring me I could continue to be her side. I closed my eyes and let the tears fall quietly onto our hands. I was able to find a place of peace in my mind and focus on just breathing, my chin trembled with each exhale. When I opened my eyes, my Mom was watching me, questioning my emotions. No words were necessary to know she was asking, am I going to be okay? An ache pierced through me so intensely I thought I might collapse. I will never forget that moment, it was as though all time had stopped and we were really seeing each other for the first time.

She was cognizant, but like us, unaware of the intensity of damage that had taken place. My heart pounded as the Doctor gathered our family around her bed and explained to us the severity of her stroke. The next week was critical and she may or may not survive. This could be it. Oh my God.

I wrapped my arms around my 88 year old father who shook with grief as his world shattered. I held him and we cried, our hearts breaking in disbelief. I have a sister who does not live locally, it was time to let her know the seriousness of the situation. I went into the hallway to call, I remember relying on the wall behind me to keep me up as I sobbed and stammered out the words, “…it’s bad… better come… might not make it…”. The week wore on, day by day, and with tremendous relief, my Mom made it through.

She spent months in physical rehabilitation, my Dad and I cheering her on as she desperately tried to get her left side to move on its own. Her determination and lack of complaining never failed to leave me in a state of awe and great respect. But the stroke had done its irreversible damage and she would never walk again. She is paralyzed on her left side, but thankfully, her mind is good, she can speak well and eat on her own.

She now lives in a home with 24 hour care and gets lifted from her wheelchair to her bed. She has to rely on help for the smallest of things. Things I take for granted, like putting toothpaste on my tooth brush, doing up a zipper or putting on a sock. She has been on such a difficult learning curve and hasn’t bitched about it. I complain when I’m tired or sore, or can’t get the lid off something.

Despite her devastating challenges, she is always wanting to make sure our family is okay. I have developed such a deep reverence for this woman who will never be home again, will never hug her husband, or make me a birthday cake. The woman I love most in this world, is my hero. My Mom, who has overcome great adversity and still has so much love in her heart.

I see her gentle spirit sitting in that wheelchair and I am reminded of the essence of who really we are. We are more than just a body, we are spirit, true and pure and beautiful. Capable of heroic measures.

You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them. – Maya Angelou

I have forgotten what I really am, for I mistook my body for myself. – A Course in Miracles, W260