Life always provides guidance on our choices, some of which we wouldn’t typically make. Sometimes those directions come in the form of gentle nudges, and those are usually the hardest to listen to, or even notice. This is especially true if there is fear, discomfort or another form of resistance involved.
I have usually recognized, but not always listened to, those gentle nudges. Often, it has taken forceful and sometimes quite painful pushes for me to make choices that have taken me out of my status quos and comfort zones. But I got one of the most important choices of my life right this past spring.
In late April, I hopped in a rental car and embarked upon the “mom mission,” driving from Longboat Key, Florida to Long Island, New York, to see the woman who birthed and raised me, shaped and nurtured me, and challenged and loved me like no other.
She’d just been in the hospital for nine nights with pneumonia, which most did not expect her to make it through. I would have left sooner, but the hospital only allowed one (the same) visitor for the entire time and my locally-based sister had thankfully arrived on the scene immediately. I told my mom that she didn’t have to fight, for us – I knew her body had become a very unwelcoming host – but if she did, I promised I would drive up to see her.
I had no intention of leaving Longboat Key, where I’d just rented the first place that felt like home in 3.5 years. I was terrified to make the drive by myself due to how long the drive was. I often take eight hours to drive four, stopping to explore, take photos, immerse myself in nature and charge up for the next portion of the drive. But flying did not seem like a safe option for visiting my mom, and I have a hard enough time cutting off my oxygen supply with a mask when I go grocery shopping. I wouldn’t have fared well on a flight.
I didn’t know where I’d stay once I got to New York – most people were still hesitant to have guests. I did have an invite for the week, but it was over an hour’s drive from my mom’s assisted living place. I figured I had about nine days of an airbnb in my budget and I could only visit three times in that span, due to the Covid rules of my mom’s center. Each visit could only last 30 minutes.
Those 90 minutes would be well beyond worth the long drive – I would have gone to another planet to see my mom. But I didn’t have any assurance she would even still be alive when I got to New York, which was terrifying. Further driving that fear, she fell when I hit the midway point of my journey.
I held the vision of hugging her close to my heart and dove deeper into faith.
Just after crossing the Virginia state line, I received a message from a woman on Trusted Housesitters, a bartering site for travelers. She asked if I could be “there” on Tuesday. At first, I thought she must have meant the message for someone else – I had not applied for any recent sits.
She clarified that she meant it for me – she remembered me from a past application, which she’d received after selecting another sitter. She then refreshed my memory by sharing where she lived – not only in New York, but only twenty minutes from my mom’s center! It started the exact day I’d arrive in New York.
Two days later, I saw my mom for the first time in over a year (she’d been on lockdown most of that stretch) – by far, the longest we had ever gone without one another. I sat on the floor in front of her, holding her hands, staring into her eyes and crying. It was one of the most beautiful moments of my life. I got to hand her an advance copy of Love Without Traffic, the novel, which I’d thought to have printed for her.
“Finally!” she said with a big smile.
After my visit, my full heart and I “checked in” at a waterfront mansion, complete with two of the sweetest animals I’ve ever met, a botanical garden, stream, pond, and inground pool. I’m no stranger to miraculous manifestations, but even for me, this one was mind-blowingly amazing.
The owner of the pets and home, who has come to be a special friend, asked me to extend twice, due to family challenges. I originally expected to be in New York a matter of days. Several months later, I’m still here.
My mom recovered from pneumonia, but still contended with MS and Parkinsons. It’s been so hard to watch her suffer, but I never once lost sight of what an immense blessing this has been, to share time with my mom, read some of the book she’d been waiting so long for to her, and share time with other family and friends I hadn’t seen in far too long.
Bonds that had once been fractured healed and strengthened. Others picked up exactly as they’d left off, as if not a day had passed. It had been many years since I’d lived in New York and this summer reminded me both of why I left and why I needed to return, for this blessed time.
Never having owned a dog in my life, I somehow became a dog whisperer, training a young and incredibly sweet Maltese who had undergone trauma before my arrival and had separation anxiety. I spent day after day playing with her and her naughty but precious cat sibling and watched the most magical place I’ve experienced outside of a vacation bloom through so many stages of unparalleled beauty.
As a seemingly endless array of flowers, bushes, birds and butterflies came to life, I witnessed the exact opposite happening with my mom. She was no longer able to put any weight on her feet or do anything for herself. She could not even speak more than a few words at a time and often, and it was often hard to understand them. (On my birthday in June, she somehow gave me the gift of a conversation. I sometimes wondered if I’d dreamed that.)
Watching her suffer was emotionally torturous at times. Most of the time, I was able to see beyond her limiting and painful body, into the essence of her true self. The portal was her eyes; I had never before realized the full extent of their beauty. We had many conversations through those eyes.
Last Monday, I read my mom a few chapters of the book. I watched her smile as I told her the latest tales about the beloved animals I’ve been caring for, who she met in person the one day we were able to get her here. I hugged her tightly. We both said I love you, as we always did.
This Monday, I’ll be saying goodbye to the body I intuitively suspected she’d be shedding while I was in New York. My mom passed peacefully into life after life on Wednesday night, in her sleep.
I found out at at 1am and after a talk with my siblings and good cry, went outside to the gorgeous deck. The moment I got out here, I saw the biggest, brightest and most beautiful shooting star dancing across the sky.
There have been many signs since, letting me know she is here, and that is the one that will live on in my heart, forever, along with the love I have for her and the love she had for me.
I haven’t always taken life’s more gentle pushes to make choices that didn’t feel comfortable or easy. But I took the most important one. These months in New York have been so sacred.
I love you, Mom.
(This photo is from several years ago. It’s one of my favorites.)
