“Do you need me to come home?” I ask my mum, as I hear the worry in her voice. My dad is not well again, and for the third time in as many years, the doctor has recommended that she get all of us kids to come home to see him.
Luckily, this wasn’t the end of the line after all. My dad pulled through and is back at home now. He is in a wheelchair after a hip fracture, is a double amputee, with diabetes, a heart condition and a host of other health issues.
For the past 10 years, my mother has been very strong, being the main person to deal with dad’s doctors, arrange hospital visits, take him to the physio while they help him learn to walk again, sit by his side for months during hospital stays, schedule the specialists, push wheelchairs, and be the sole carer for her husband of more than 50 years.
In sickness and in health, indeed.
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Before dad’s illness, our relationship was a bit more one sided. I would call for advice, to ask for help (or ahem… money), and she would be there for me.
Once dad got sick, I realised that I needed to step up and offer more support to the woman who was dealing with the day-to-day grind of caring for a very ill husband.
My mum isn’t one to cry, rage or complain about anything she has to do. She takes things one day at a time, which I really admire. But I can see that it is essential for her to have my siblings and I to talk to, and to lean on, during this phase of her life. The fact that all of her kids live more than 400km away from her makes the telephone feel like a lifeline.
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