Fear and Loneliness in Charm City

My mom is in the hospital again. She can't seem to catch a break. Two summers ago she had a hernia. Last summer she broke her wrist. Last month she had kidney and gallstones detected, as well as colitis. She supposedly passed her kidney stone during Thanksgiving but wound up at the ER last Friday because of a high fever, vomiting, and severe back pain. She's been on intravenous antibiotics for a few days, which haven't completely eradicated the infection. Today she had some more tests (ECG, endoscopy). They also discovered another hernia during a CT over the weekend. Not one that's big enough to cause problems now, mind you, just later down the road, when she'll have to have another surgery to get it rmoved.

Although living with a sick person is nothing new to me (see the missus and her undetermined mystery female disease), nothing breaks my heart more to hear that my mom is sick. She's such a selfless person, and maybe that's the problem. Both of my grandparents (both homebound) live with her, and she must care for their needs as well as working a full-time job. Over the years, she has become the lynchpin in my family hierarchy. If something happens to her, everyone, from my grandparents, to my brother and me to my aunt, are screwed. She carries a tremendous burden on her shoulders. And we watch, from the audience every day, hoping she doesn't misstep. For who wants to take over the massive responsibility of elder care if and when my mom is unable?

The missus and I just bought doggie diapers for our sometimes-incontinent dog, Maggie. We are slowly being eased into the eldercare issues, so perhaps it won't be such a shock. But perhaps that's not even the reason I'm worried. For although my mom is the tactical lynchpin in our family, she is also the emotional centerpoint. It was strange to be in her house this weekend (and during the last time she recovered from a major illness) with her not in it. Sure, it still looks like the warm, cluttered place with too many Maxine, Jackie O, and Disney collectibles, but it doesn't feel the same. Let's face it; if my mom wasn't around, there's no one to take her place, to keep the family together. And off we break, floating silently into the cosmos.

My brother and I are extremely close to my mother, and she to us. Perhaps it is the result of being codependent survivors, sharing the trauma of my father's alcoholism (and then hers). We will never willingly extracate ourselves from our mother's protective aura, and nothing will wretch it from us. She is our identity and our link to humanity, our ability to give love always even when receiving pain in return. If she is taken we will never be whole again. There will be a piece in the sky that's missing, a piece we will try to fill with part of the ground. But then, there will just be a hole in the ground. And so it goes.