My mom is fragile, 90, yet resilient. Her doctor told me when he first took her on as a patient in a skilled nursing facility, that he thought she’d be around for a few weeks at best. She’s almost 2 years there and though she has her moments when she’s under the weather or has a bout with her current condition, she rebounds.
Lately she’s been feeling weak and her rebounding isn’t as pronounced as before. Yet, she is not one to complain. When I arrive, she is always concerned about me, “Did you eat?” and I smile because I know she is the only one who cares about me in this manner. Simple things, yet significant to a mother who wants her child (no matter the age) to be well and taking care of herself.
I feel blessed that she loves me. That she has always loved me. That she has been my mother. Recently she started saying, “Te adoro” (“I adore you”). To adore is much more than a simple “I love you” (as if I love you is simple). To adore speaks more intimately to the heart. A lingering thread of connectedness, which is far more tender and intimate.
I too adore her. It has taken me years and the journies of my own independence to come to a place of realization that no stronger love, no stronger advocate did I ever have, than my own mother. How fortunate am I. How blessed am I.
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