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Community Corner

It Takes a Family

Grandmother's health crisis teaches this Royal Oak family what it means to 'be there' for each other.

The unexpected call from our son in Chicago felt like a flash of sunshine on a mid-winter morning.

“I thought I’d drive home today,” Nate explained to my husband, Doug, on the phone. “I’ve got a free weekend, so maybe I can help you get Grandma settled in. I can be there tonight, if that’s OK with you guys.”

Grandma, my widowed mother, was scheduled to return home that afternoon, having spent two long weeks at and another two weeks in rehab at a nursing center.  There were new challenges ahead.  

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Recovering from congestive heart failure and a pacemaker implant, my mother still seemed a bit confused and depressed. Though her doctors assured us she’d fare better in her own condo, Doug and I had some doubts.

Nate’s surprise visit would be just the tonic my mother needed that weekend. In fact, when I told her that her grandson was driving from Chicago to welcome her back, she looked happier than she did when I announced that her nurse was preparing her discharge papers.

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Of course, the occasion called for a special family dinner. So, the following night, Nate drove with his dad through a snowstorm to bring my mom over to our place. Thankfully, her condo is just a 10-minute drive away and I was still chopping vegetables for the pasta primavera when they pulled into the driveway.

Once inside, my little family gravitated toward the fireplace in our living room. Poring over an album stuffed with 2 1/2 decades’ worth of photos, they shared memories of everything from childhood birthday parties to silly Halloween costumes. From my workspace in the kitchen, I could hear my son’s voice – the deep voice of a 25-year-old man – laughing and responding patiently to the same family stories his 80-year-old grandmother has recounted a million times since he was a kid.

“Nate, did I ever tell you about the time you cracked your head on the playground while Grandpa and I were babysitting you?” my mother asked.

"Yes, you did, Grandma. But I’d like to hear it again ..." 

These days, my mother’s short-term memory is compromised, to put it kindly. But she hasn’t forgotten all the times she babysat Nate when he was a preschooler and I was trying to balance family life with a writing career. Nate was, in my mother’s words, “a devil on wheels,” yet she always admired his spunk and often advised me to be patient with him.  When Nate turned 3, she handed me a framed drawing with the aphorism: “A little boy is the only thing God can use to make a man.”

Lately, I’ve come to believe that one of the sweetest pleasures of mid-life is watching our kids morph into thoughtful, sensitive adults. At one point on the weekend, for instance, Nate even offered to help me scrub his grandmother’s kitchen – a noble and totally unexpected proposal from a guy who never once cleaned the refrigerator (let alone his bedroom) while he lived with us at home.  

In retrospect, my mother's health began failing about a year after Nate left for the University of Notre Dame. Diagnosed with a heart condition and early stage dementia, she'd also begun to lose her hearing. Before long, her doctors were asking me to manage all of her health-care decisions.

Meanwhile, Nate did the things most college kids do: He studied for exams, partied with pals, rallied for his team at football games. After graduation he left home and focused on building a career for himself, making us proud of his “can do” spirit and independence.   

I was always honest with Nate about his grandmother’s dementia diagnosis and I never neglected to tell him when she was admitted to the hospital -- more times than I’d like to recount. Still, I never wanted him to feel guilty for not being at home to witness Grandma’s ongoing health crisis. Admittedly, there were times I soft-pedaled the truth a bit, hoping he wouldn’t worry too much from afar.  The desire to make life easier for our kids, after all, is encoded in our maternal DNA.  

Regardless, my son seems to know when it’s time to come back and check on his folks in Royal Oak. He doesn’t wait for major holidays. He understands now that difficult seasons are so much easier to weather when loved ones offer emotional support without being asked. He’s learned that showing up at the right time can make all the difference in the world.

Cindy La Ferle's award-winning story collection, Writing Home, is available on Amazon.com. Proceeds from the sales of new copies are donated to the day shelter in Royal Oak. For more information, visit Cindy La Ferle's Home Office.

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