Monthly Archives: March 2016

Am I Doing OK?

Posted on March 30, 2016 by Tom Laughon

The start of spring was officially a few days ago, but Richmond Virginia didn’t get the memo.

Old Man Winter was hell bent and determined to stick around, and I was not a happy camper. I had already put my winter clothes in the darkest recesses of my closet in hopes that I would never have to see any of them ever again.

Note: I have never been a big fan of the old-as-ice man.  And, this time he took me over the edge. He had worn out his welcome!

So, here we go … again.

It’s 7:30 am, mom has been washed, changed, dressed, fed,  bundled up and is sitting tall in her Big Wheels Chariot waiting for me to roll her out into the cold to our pre-heated Helen-Mobile for her journey to Circle Center Adult Day Care.

Mom’s cold, I’m cold, and the toasty Helen-Mobile was our only chance to prevent hypothermia … turning back was not an option. When I whispered to mom that I was going to lift her from her Big Wheels into the front seat of the car, she had no idea what was about to happen until we heard the SONIC BOOM … the sound associated with the shock waves created by an object traveling through the air faster than the speed of sound.

And, that object was my 96 year old mom being lifted from her Big Wheels and into the car in one fell swoop!

When we arrived at Circle Center, I created one last SONIC BOOM getting mom from the car, into her Big Wheels, and through the Center’s automatic door. Had it not been for automation, I was determined to crash through glass to find warmth … like a heat seeking missile on the loose.

Once we were safely inside, I leaned over and gave mom a long hug. Without opening her eyes, she asked, “Am I doing OK?”

“You’re doing great, mom. You are doing just fine.”

As I turned to leave, I heard her say, “Thank ya.”

Circle Center’s automatic door opened and Old Man Winter sucker punched me with a savage artic blast right to the face … the only portion of my entire body that was left unprotected. I was determined to make it to the Helen-Mobile. I was out for revenge.

Now that I was back behind the wheel, I have transformed into a warrior on a mission.

Nobody messes with my mom and me and thinks they can get away with it.

After single-handedly tracking down Old Man Winter, I  am going to create one more earth-shaking SONIC BOOM by catapulting him to kingdom come!

Even if it’s the last thing I ever do, this spring is going to have my name on it!

 

 

 

 

 

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You Get the Picture

Posted on March 12, 2016 by Tom Laughon

Who needs a thousand words when it comes to mom?

There is no denying mom’s talking less and less, but when she says something, you listen and long for every word.

I had just dropped her off at Circle Center Adult Day Care. She was in her wheelchair, eyes closed, when I kissed her cheek and whispered, “Bye, mom, I love you … I’ll see you later, OK?”

Surprisingly she answered, “You’re not going to leave me here are you?”

“No mam. I will never, ever leave you. I have to go to work, but I’ll be back later to get you, OK?”

“OK.”

I gave her one last hug, and as I headed for the door, I heard her say loud and clear, “Good luck to you and your lover. (PAUSE) Ain’t that nice?!”

I looked back and her eyes were still closed, her head was slowly nodding up and down, and I swear she was smiling.

It looked to me like she was totally pleased with herself for, well, being so nice.

I don’t know where it came from, but I still can’t get this picture out of my mind, and I don’t even know what it looks like.

 

 

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A Look I’d Never Seen

Posted on March 5, 2016 by Tom Laughon

 

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It was snowing like crazy, and mom was all bundled up and ready to rock ‘n’ roll (that’s what cars and wheelchairs do in the snow) to Circle Center Adult Day Care, aka heaven on earth!

On the way out the door, I asked Carolyn, our caregiver extraordinaire,  where mom’s glasses were.

“They just keep falling off, Tom. She just can’t keep them on … and (long pause) … she really can’t see much anymore. Her eyes are closed most of the time now, even when she eats. I just don’t think she needs them anymore.”

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Looking back on it now, I realize I was only halfway listening to Carolyn. I think I was focused more on how I was going to conquer the snow and get from Point A to Point B without losing two of my most favorite people on this planet … mom and me!

It wasn’t until I had safely made it to Circle Center and was lifting mom from the car into her wheelchair, that I noticed her again without her glasses. I took a picture of her and then just stood there, my eyes fixated on her face, crying.

The snow was falling in slow motion, in unison with my tears.

It was the first time in my life … my entire life … that I had seen my mom start her day without her glasses.

When I first started caring for her, it was a struggle to even get her to take them off at bedtime.  And, often, she’d have them on again before getting out of bed in the morning.  Maybe she needed them to see her dreams. Who knows? All I know is I never knew.

I wiped my eyes on my coat sleeve and wheeled mom into the lobby. It was as warm as the welcome from the receptionist. “Good morning, Tom! Pretty rough going out there this morning. Glad to see you and your mom made it safe and sound.”

Then she turned to mom. “Hey, Helen! Don’t you look great in that red coat of yours. (Pause) Helen … where are your glasses?”

I basically gave her the same explanation Carolyn gave me. They’re always falling off. Mom keeps her eyes closed most of the time now. And, even when they’re open, I’m not really sure she sees much of anything anyway.

Then the receptionist asked if I was OK. I don’t know whether my eyes were giving it away, but I started tearing up again. “I’m OK. It’s just that … I have never seen my mom without her glasses on … my entire life … never.”

“For all I know, she was born with her glasses on … little tiny baby glasses that must have grown up with her.”

I tried to pull a smile out of my hat, but it wasn’t working.

I bent over to kiss mom’s cheek and say goodbye. Her eyes were closed.

I whispered, “I love you mom … I’ll see you later.”

I went back out into the cold wondering if my mom would ever see me again.

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