The Best Birthday Present

My mother was a quadriplegic due to an accident in 2001. For many years she sought so much outside help with her struggling life. She needed constant help, so much attention. Her trachea would need drained, medication administered, catheter removed to avoid infection and someone to feed her. Of course, I am not listing the never ending list of other things that a person that cannot move anything on their body but their arms and head would need. She was literally dead from the neck down. If you’ve ever talked with her on the phone you would never know the struggle she faced daily.

My mother had five hours of help per day. Yes, you read that correctly. A woman who needed to be carried everywhere and her diapers changed every three hours had only five hours a day for an assistant to take care of her. Thus, the remaining nineteen hours were bestowed upon my father, my brothers and I. Of course, my brothers and I did not assist in the personal aspect. This started when I was twelve and lasted until my thirtieth birthday.

My father was a great man. Directly after the accident, my mother had an attachment called a “Halo” screwed into her skull. This device had two screws drilled into the temples with weight hanging behind the bed to stretch the body and aid in aligning bone structure. While she lay in the bed, he sat next to her. He was sobbing uncontrollably for a few minutes, lightly kissing her hand. She looked at him and said “ Heath, I know this is really bad. I probably won’t walk again and if you want to leave so I am not a burden to you, you can. I understand.” I really don’t believe I have ever seen such commitment in any one persons eyes. “Vivian, I can’t believe you would think that and if you ever say that again I will leave you.” She never said it again.

Fast forward seven years. I arrived home before anyone after a fun filled day at the river. The phone rang only minutes after coming in the door. My aunt said that my mother had been in another wreck and that I was not to inform my father. The problem? My father was with my mother. He was in another wreck with her. I knew the location and went immediately. The drive was only ten minutes but I swore that it was a lifetime. The gravel road was filled with cars, a helicopter sat in the field adjacent. Then, I see my father. He was laying on his side with the left arm over his body. His eyes were closed, blood coming from his eyes, mouth and ears. The wind stopped, the sun blinded me and I fell to my knees. My two brothers are running towards me crying in pain. I knew, I know.

He wasn’t dead just knocked out. When I say knocked out, I mean that years later I learned that he was in fact brain dead. I was selfish, the decision was mine. I could put him on hospice or have him on this earth as long as possible. Even as I write this, I am trembling. I didn’t feel selfish at the time. I knew his smell and I needed his warmth. I couldn’t just “let him go”. My mother was distraught for years and it really did a number on her. He died February 23, 2013.

My mother was a Christian woman, very devout. She prayed every single day, every single night. From the moment of the wreck until she passed, heaviness always stayed beside her. She wanted my father, she needed him. There were a few men who claimed to love her. She died next to the man that ultimately took the claim seriously.

My mother, died on my birthday. 9:36 p.m. September 26, 2018. The day my mother gave birth to me thirty years ago. I lay beside her, knowing she had already left this earth. I felt the vibration as her heart beat stopped. I have so many things to be thankful for but this, this is my most thankful moment yet. I have many things to say about this woman but that I will leave for another day.

Thank you for reading my passage. We all have stories.

Be kind to someone today for no reason. Not for your own satisfaction but for theirs.