It’s weird, but it was important to us. When my mom was close to 90, she couldn’t live alone anymore, and I moved in with her to help.
As time passed, she became incontinent, and it so offended her dignity that she was miserable. I assured her it was okay, that I had cared for my husband the same way, and, after all, she had changed my diapers. Fair was fair. But it still bothered her greatly.
One day after an accident, she began to weep, heart-brokenly, and said, “Honey, you shouldn’t have to go through this. Nobody should.”
Allow me to insert here that I don’t think I had ever uttered a curse word of any kind in front of my mother.
But then I said, “Well, it’s a sh**ty job, but somebody has to do it.” I had shocked myself. I anticipated a slap, maybe. Her head came up, still wet with tears, she stared at me, and then she began to laugh. So did I. Big, hearty guffaws. Good, soul-cleansing laughing.
That one moment brought us closer than we had ever been. She stopped crying about things she couldn’t control. We talked more, like two adult women, not mother and child.
She lived three more years, and I am so glad I had that time with her.
