Last Thursday we had an ice and snowstorm. Friday my Mom was meeting two friends at a Red Robin for lunch. These women have been meeting three times a year to celebrate their birthdays since back in the early 80s. My Mom has a disabled parking permit because she has two bad knees (one artificial or titanium, fun when she goes through metal detectors) and a bad heart that makes it difficult for her to walk long distances. She parked in the disabled parking spot, opened her car door, and slipped on the ice. She fell forward and tried to catch herself with her hand. She ended up a bloody mess, literally. Four teenagers happened by and offered to help her up. My Mom said that she was afraid that they were going to snatch her purse. They helped her up and led her into the restaurant where her friends were already seated and waiting. One customer looked at my mom, crinkled up her nose, and said, “You have blood running down your face.” My Mom said the blood was so heavy that she couldn’t see and she looked at the woman and said, “No shit.” Once her friends got her one of them called for a manager and questioned him for not having rock salt or something down, especially near a disabled parking spot. The young manager was a bit snippy about the parking lot not being their responsibility until this friend went out and started taking pictures. Then he asked if he could help in any way.

They took my Mom to the ER. She has a severely sprained right arm, a bruised and swollen beyond belief left knee, a huge bump and cut on her forehead, a cut across her nose where her glasses broke and two black eyes. Her friends left when my sister Monica showed up to stay with her and take her home. They gave her the good pain pills and by the time I was called she was cracking jokes about having such a big nose because at least she didn’t land flat on her face.

I tried to get her to come and stay at our house but she refused. Saturday she called me crying and asking me to come out and help her. As I was figuring out the bus schedule and bringing my kids my brother called. My brother ended up going out and taking her to get her glasses fixed and out for Thai food. Then he drove her to his house but she refused to stay with him either. Monday she had to go to the doctor’s office for a check up and there was no one to drive her. She called me and asked if I would take the bus out (it’s about a two hour ride) and then sit in the passenger seat while she drove with her left hand only. She was sure she would be just fine with me by her side but I thought the idea ridiculous. I suggested she call a cab. My niece ended up picking her up, taking her to the doctor and then out to eat. They stopped by my house on their way home last night so I could give her a hug. Everyone has been bringing her food and helping her. She confessed to me when we had a second alone that she is having trouble showering and that she had left the house without a bra because she couldn’t get one on. She was very worried about being braless. I told her that no one was even going to notice. I asked her to please stay with me but she refused, saying that she was having a friend over for tea this morning. Only my Mom wouldn’t cancel plans made prior to her injuries. I can just picture her getting out the fine teapot and china cups and saucers and setting the table with one hand.

The hardest part for me, after the concern for her well being, has been feeling as if I’ve been no help at all. I am not the daughter she can call on for much of anything anymore. It used to take me 15 minutes to get to her by bus before she sold her house. She has had ten surgeries in the last eight years and I have nursed her through all of them but one, because I was working fulltime at the time and could only tend to her during my off hours. Fortunately Alex was able to care for her while I was at work. I never realized how possessive I felt about my role of caregiver. I have showered her countless times, helped her on and off the porta potty, wiped for her when she had the carpal tunnel surgery, brushed her hair, fed her and rubbed her back. After some of these surgeries she would get rather depressed and I held her while she cried.

I know that she will be okay, that there are others who can get to her faster, but I still feel guilty. I wish she would move closer to my house.