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Mom
It's almost like God prepares me for stuff.
When my dear cousin Asa had a stroke at 42 years of age, even though he was on the other side of the world, I felt like I went through it with him. He taught me about many things including the warning signs of a stroke, the various stages of recovery and how humor is essential to life and healing. So when I sat down to lunch with my mom on a warm Tuesday in June and her words were jumbled and slurring, I knew something was wrong. She complained that her arm was numb, but having just gotten out of bed, maybe she had leaned on it wrong as she was saying her rosary? Someone once said that "the eyes are the window to the soul", but honestly when she started to speak- it was her voice, her speech that illuminated the problem. All that followed was a blur of medical people, tests and a lot of prayers until after she was admitted, two hospitals later, at Dartmouth Hitchcock Medical Center in Lebanon, New Hampshire.
That night from the chair bed next to my mom, I
watched her face register all of the emotions she seemed to be feeling… even as
she slept. The irony of the situation
didn't escape me. I watched the doctors and nurses
come and go. They would be the ones to
help my mom find her voice again. And I watched… helpless. Even though, I spend a good portion of my
year in Nebraska coaching speech and I pray- helping students to discover their
individual voices, never could I imagine that my mom’s voice, her speech could
be damaged by anything, let alone something that they were calling a “mini”
stroke. She has been so strong for so
long… 14 years on dialysis… every Monday, Wednesday and Friday for 3 ½ hours a
day, she has fought to stay alive. As in
Hebrews 12:1, she has “run with perseverance the race marked out for…” her, but
that racecourse keeps twisting and turning and sometimes, oftentimes, it is scary and disheartening to watch. But then (using the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont vernacular) I am forced to remember whom I am dealing with.
When I
moved Mom back home to her home three days short days later, I stumbled upon a scrapbook I had assembled for my Mom
and Dad’s 40th anniversary back in 1995. Anyway, I
had written to all of their dear friends and family asking them to write down their
favorite stories about my Mom and Dad, and then I compiled this and presented it to them. In this book, I found an old and yellowing letter dated 12/21/94 that I
had addressed to my parents for this very occasion, but I began to realize what it had to teach me 20 years later...
Dear Mom and Dad,
I saw a
six year old girl walking down the street today; she was crying as she tried to carry two big
bags of empty beer bottles to the corner market. I stopped to help, but of course the
situation was truly beyond what I could fix.
I drove her to the market, carried the bags inside and then was
instructed to leave her behind. My tears
choked out of my eyes onto my cheeks, as I climbed down those market stairs and
got into my car. I could not
breathe.
In the
midst of my tears today, I found deep, deep joy in thinking back to growing up in St. Johnsbury. I remember
walking through our neighborhood and town with a strong sense of security. I remember my first trip alone across
Portland Street bridge; certainly, I was
much older than six. By the time I
reached Hovey’s, I was breathless with the thrill of freedom. I walked, oblivious to any evil. I remember thinking that being half
Letourneau and half Kenney was the absolute best, most powerful thing to
be. I remember feeling very independent,
but now I realize that the feeling of independence came from a very strong
dependence on you. I had walked that
bridge a million times before with you and Tina, Pattie and Wayne. I knew you were back home waiting, perhaps
breathless for my return.
Now as I look at our two sons, I think that is exactly what I want for them. They say, “Hold me, Mommy,” and I hold them
hoping that I don’t smother them. I want
to give them space to grow, be independent and strong, but at the same time I
want to shelter them from, while not blinding them to, the evil that can be a
part of life. I want them both to be
independent people, self confident because of the loving dependency we all
share, not isolated or angry, lost souls.
I want them to recognize suffering in the world and do what they can to
ease it, without succumbing to it. I
want them to look back on their childhood and feel that being half Letourneau
and half Fallon is the absolute best, most powerful thing to be.
Love, PJ
I had forgotten about that experience. I had forgotten about that scrapbook, but I found it just when I needed it the most. It was then that I realized that being half Kenney and half Thomas made my mom just about the strongest
person I have ever known.
Stroke Signs:
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Face Drooping |
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Arm Weakness |
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Speech Difficulty |
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Time to call 911 |
Additional signs of a stroke may include:
- Sudden numbness or weakness of the face, arm or leg, especially on one side of the body
- Sudden confusion, trouble speaking or understanding
- Sudden trouble seeing in one or both eyes
- Sudden trouble walking, dizziness, lack of balance or coordination
- Sudden severe headache with no known cause (source: http://www.strokeassociation.org)
