Chapter Five:

     Throughout the caregiving experience for my Mother, one thing has always been consistent: one day is never the same as the day before.  

     Adapting to the constant change has also helped me to learn a lot of new things about myself.  I have been known to be a little anxious and impatient; however, while caring for my Mother, that responsibility has always required a new level of patience.  Furthermore, while watching others care for her, some professionally trained, some serving from the depths of their hearts, I have always measured their efforts by how they respond during difficult moments.  Being a caregiver requires that the person administering the care possesses one important gift: the ability to care for someone just as much or even more than they would care for themselves.

     When I decided to bring my Mother into my home to live, I admit that I didn’t fully understand what I was getting myself into.  (For details about my thoughts at the time, please read Chapter One of this series.) It’s Mom, and I am here for whatever she needs, yet caring for her needs has been so much more than that.  

     To know my Mom, I mean to truly understand her; you also understand the significance and importance of her visits to the hair salon.  Within the first month of arriving at my home, I was seeking ways to help make her feel more like her old self.  Her physicians had informed our family that Mom would never be the old version of herself, and due to the damage of the brain injury she endured, she would have little or no memory of what life used to be for her.  Still, getting her to the salon, I thought, would provide a place to connect, socialize, and embrace her womanness among other women.  For the most part, my Mother spent a lot of time with me, her grown son, and by God’s grace, she didn’t lose her genuine self.  Getting her to a former place where she blossomed into her full beauty, I believed, would be good for her.

     The day arrived for Mom to visit her stylist, and when presence was made inside the building, her emotions began to rise from within.  There were some tears, but I processed those to be representatives of some emotions that had been silenced for nearly four months.  Her stylist was happy to see her, and my Mom was even happier to see her, but I was more astonished by the first thing that my Mother said to her stylist.   “Look what happened to me?”  I knew then it was my time to sit in the waiting room as she had arrived in her element, and she was about to receive some much-needed healing and therapy from her personal hairstylist. 

     When my Mother’s session was complete, we got back into my car and headed back home.  Of course, I took some photos of her fresh, new style.  She was popping, and I was sure to capture this moment for her and my family, who weren’t there.  It was refreshing to see her look sort of like her old self but even more beautiful.  I felt as if I was looking at a new version of her, free of the toxins that played a role in leading up to her stroke.  I also realized that ensuring that each day for the rest of her days is better and more memorable than each day before.  I am a son first and then a caregiver.