In the Middle

I was sitting in church the other day watching all the moms with their kids. Babies, toddlers, Tweens, adolescents and teens. It took me back to when I was that mom. The new mom, just a little unsure of her  mothering  skills. The mom with her 4th baby, confident, loving and relaxed. The mom who at times got so frustrated with her kids she could scream, or cry or both. The mom who loved being a mom to her teenagers.  The mom who watched her children grow up and move away for missions, schools, marriages and jobs.

These mothers in our ward  are in auxiliary presidencies, teach primary, young womens, and Sunday school. They carpool, work, chauffeur, clean, cook and referee. They are confident young women able to do just about what ever needs to be done. They are the same ages as my daughter and daughters in law who are doing the same things where they live. 

It is sometimes hard to remember that I had 4 children before I turned 30, moved around the country for John's job, endured financial ups and doens, was Relief Society President at 36, and graduated from collage at 40.  Whenever I see a young mother get called to a new calling or have babies close together, or go back to school I think how hard it will be for them forgetting I did the same thing.

It has been interesting to pass this title of "mom" to the next generation. Don't get me wrong, I am still a mother to four fabulous kids. But I am no longer a full time, child rearing, down and dirty mom. I'm an empty nester, a grandmother ----- middle aged. 

Middle age is not a misnomer. We are between the next generation of "moms" and our aging parents. I have found it much easier to watch my children become parents than watch my parents get old. 

Dad has been in the assisted living care center for almost two months now. It almost made me cry when the activities director said dad had a good day because he could stack blocks onto a stick. I was so pleased to hear him say " there's Beth Ann" when mom walked by last week. He hasn't called her by name for a while. But he still smiles when he sees us. Mom cried when dad tried to sigh his name for a VA form then tried to wipe it out when it was just scribbles. One day while we were visiting there was a man singing and playing Wille Nelson and Johnny Cash country western songs on the guitar for the residents. Dad was standing next to a care giver and mom took dad's hands and they started to dance. Mom was singing and dad was smiling as they swayed. I did cry then.

John's mother Martha is aging in a completely different way. She is 88 years old and is quite frail due to cronic pain, repeat infections and heart problems. I am almost afraid to hug her because she is getting so thin. She has been living with Rachel, John's sister for a couple of months but is determined to go home. She can't go home unless she gets stronger so she tries to convince everyone how well she is doing. When the home health nurse comes in she tries to act strong and won't admit to any pain.the other day the whole family was at Rachel's house. Rachel asked her if she felt like coming out for dinner. mom asked "Who's here?" Rachel said "Everyone." Martha said "Then I'm fine!"  She keeps saying "I don't want to be a burden, and I don't want to lose my mind." Her stoic southern roots  are showing through. 

But she is starting to get more and more confused and the Doctor told her last Friday that she could either stay with Rachel or go to a nursing home, it is no longer  safe for her to stay at home alone. And just today we got a phone call that she is back in the hospital because her chest hurt and she had a hard time breathing.  It wasn't a heart attack, but they will do more tests tomorrow. 

Note: Martha's tests showed a blockage where she had the heart attack last year. The Dr (cardiologist) said she could either have an angioplasty to see if a stent is need or try and control her heart pain and rate with medicines. He was very good, looked straight at her, not at Rachel or me and asked her what she wanted.  He said he knew she might be ready to see David and would not do anything she didn't want. It was all I could do to keep my mouth shut and not say " Are you kidding, an angioplasty when she is as frail as she is!"  Luckily I did and Martha made her own choice:  she would try the meds, she really didn't want another procedure and was not afraid to die. When she asked me what I thought, I was happy I could agree with her with out holding back my opinions. 

Why does it have to be so hard?