Spitfire & Grit

Published on 27 August 2024 at 20:13

As I sit here at my mother’s bedside, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest after what feels like the millionth battle—this time with pneumonia, a UTI, intubation, and yet another surgery to yank out her gallbladder—I can’t help but reflect on the life she’s lived and the road ahead that looks about as inviting as a freeway during rush hour.

The sterile hospital room fades, and I’m hit with a montage of memories, each one showcasing her incredible strength and resilience, as if she’s some kind of superhero who, instead of capes and powers, got dealt a hand of back surgeries, strokes, and Murphy’s Law on speed dial.

I mean, seriously, this woman has been through more than anyone should have to endure, yet here she is, still fighting, still refusing to let life get the last word. But as I look at her now—fragile, tired, and probably rolling her eyes at my sentimental musings—I can’t help but think about what comes next.

Remember those dreams of traveling the country in a 5th wheel? Yeah, those have been replaced by the looming possibility of a nursing home—a place that, let’s be honest, feels more like a depressing pit stop than a new adventure. It’s not exactly the retirement she signed up for, and we’ve both been dodging this reality like it’s a particularly annoying telemarketer. But the more battles she fights, the harder it is to ignore the fact that constant care might soon be a necessity.

It’s a sobering thought to imagine my fiercely independent mother in a place where she’ll need help with even the smallest things, like getting out of bed or making it through a day without some new medical drama. But it’s also a reminder of just how much she’s already been through, how many times she’s given life the middle finger and carried on with her usual grit and spitfire.

As I sit here, holding her hand and earlier brushing her 8-day bedhead hairstyle that defies the laws of physics, I wonder how we’ll navigate this next chapter together. It won’t be easy; there will be moments of frustration, fear, and probably some dark humor to lighten the load. But if there’s one thing I know, it’s that she’ll face this challenge the same way she’s faced all the others—head-on, with a strength that leaves me in awe. Despite the parade of health issues and the seemingly endless doctor’s visits & hospital stays she remains a beacon of resilience, with a spirit so fiery it could power a small city. Her humor is her superpower, her faith her shield, and her love the warm, firm anchor that keeps everyone else afloat. She’s the reigning champion of life’s unintended comedy show, and if there were a medal for surviving with style, she’d have a trophy room full of them.

For now, I’m just grateful to be here with her, in this moment, holding on to the woman who’s always been the strongest person I’ve ever known. ❤️

 

 

 

She might be 65 with a body that refuses to cooperate, but my mom’s still standing—strong in her faith, fierce in her love, and always ready with a joke. Because if there’s one thing, she’s taught me, it’s that life may not play fair, but you can always outwit it with a little humor and a whole lot of heart. She is a tough old bird, with a sharp beak. 

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