Didn't Expect to Hear That

So last week I'm visiting my mother in her nursing home and she says to me, "Kevin, can you find my underwear?"

Dumbfounded but without missing a beat I replied, "Sure Mom, what in particular are you looking for? A bra?"

She replied, "Well I know I have a whole pile of bras and panties but the aid couldn't find them. Would you please look for them?"

This is what happens when a person's world shrinks after eight months of health setbacks. In little more than a year, my mother has gone from a woman living on her own in a two-bedroom condo packed with possessions gathered over a lifetime, to a woman in a hospital bed with a few family pictures on the window sill, some clothes hanging in a closet, a few books, some jewelry, toiletries, and, well that's about it. I could fit her possessions in a medium-sized suit case. And, unfortunately, there was no underwear anywhere to be found.

At my mother's insistance I telephoned my sister. A few months ago, when my mother could no longer stay in her little apartment after falling and breaking her back, my sister moved my mother's few furniture pieces into storage and is keeping most of her clothes. She explained to me that my mother didn't need additional underwear beyond what the hospital had provided. However, we agreed, that since she was asking, she'd bring some bras and panties to the facility.

Wow. It took nearly fifty years, but that was my first-ever conversation about women's underwear with my mother. Fortunately, when I visit we talk about other things as well. Many topics are new, like how she needs to keep working in physical therapy, that her family loves her and wants to see her up and about, and that if she can't find the strength to get out of bed, we may not have her around too much longer.

While I still believe my mother can recover somewhat and live independently again, there's no guaranty I'll see anything better than this. The years have taken a mighty toll and she's tired. I don't blame her for her condition, because she has been the wronged party in many relationships--from her overly strict parents to her philandering husband, my mother has endured a life where she didn't feel celebrated or wanted. She, however, did soldier on giving unselfishly (though imperfectly) to her family and succeeded in launching four children relatively unscathed into adulthood, which is a pretty amazing feat.

I don't know how to help my mother get better. I know I can be a better son, but I talk to her more frequently now than at anytime in my adult life. I consult with my siblings as we talk about how best to support her, and we've become closer as a result. I've even spoken to medical and legal professionals for advice. However, when I'm with her, there's not much to say beyond, "I pray for you Mom." "I want you to get better." "Your grandchildren would like to see you more." "You can do it!"

And, when I'm with her I'll do whatever she asks, even if it involves looking for errant panties.