I’d Rather Stay Here

My grandmother had never attended a church for most of her life, so it came as a surprise to me when she told my mom she wanted to become Catholic at age 75 in 2003.

Memaw had a stroke in 2002, and instead of healing from that stroke, the damage continues daily. She was initially able to walk following the stroke, then had to resort to a walker. By the next year, she was in a wheelchair. Memaw would not have been able to complete a year of RCIA, so she received the sacraments of Baptism, First Communion, and Confirmation all at once during a Mass.

Her reception into the Church happened so fast that I’ve wondered since then if she really understood what was going on at Mass. When it comes to the Real Presence, did she “get it?”  I did notice, though, that going to Mass became the highlight of her week.

As time went on, her body continued to fail her. She had to be placed in a nursing home because the round-the-clock care she requires is more than my mother could manage at home. Around the time of Memaw’s going into the home, my mother had a reaction to anesthesia during knee surgery that has left her disabled as well. Mom still walks, but slowly. She has lost a lot of physical strength.

Still, Mom goes daily to vist Memaw, and on Friday mornings, takes her to Mass at the nursing home. Witnessing my mother’s daily acts of love and mercy in her caring for my grandmother has been both incredible and humbling. The time and effort Mom puts in would be difficult for anyone, let alone someone who lives with constant weakness and pain. I often think this will be a hard act to follow, but it is the example that has been set for me should I be in her shoes 25 years from now, caring for Mom the same way.

As Memaw’s condition deteriorates, going to Mass becomes increasingly challenging. Memaw is now bedridden, and dependent upon oxygen and a feeding tube. Her hands are curled tightly in towards her wrists, and she can do nothing at all for herself. Right now she can still talk – maybe a word or a phrase at a time, but it is painful and difficult for her to do so. She sleeps much of the time; it is rare to visit her and find her awake and able to exchange a few words.

On Friday mornings, the nursing home attendants move Memaw to her wheelchair and attach a portable oxygen tank. Mom then wheels Memaw to the assisted living side of the home where Mass is held. After Mass yesterday, Mom posted this to a private blog she keeps for family and friends:

“Friday I went to take Mother to Mass. I almost didn’t go because I woke up with vertigo and that always makes for a bad morning. However I felt compelled to make the effort to go. During Mass there were a couple of times that she seemed to be having a difficult time breathing. I asked her if she wanted to go back to her room and she did not say no but rather, “I would rather stay here.” There is a distinct difference in saying ‘no I don’t want to go somewhere,’ and saying ‘I want to stay here.’ During the Our Father I looked down at her and realized that she was mouthing the words even as difficult as it was. I became very emotional at that for I think how easy it is for me to say the words of the prayer and yet she struggled to get the words out. I wanted so much to say, “Mom just listen I will say the words for you,” but instead I got 2 inches from her ear and said them not for her, but rather with her.”

I was overcome myself just reading those words. I know what it means for her to try to say the Our Father. Mom’s testimony of my grandmother’s devotion at Mass has settled any concerns I had that she really understood Mass. Her “I’d rather stay here,” and her struggle to pray tells me without a doubt that she really does “get it” . . . better than I do.