My mother will be turning 83 next month. She lives with me, and I am really grateful for that these days as I am fighting cancer. Thanks to Mom being here, I’ve had help when I’ve needed it.
Not that I don’t have absolutely wonderful friends who have taken me for surgery and chemo and other doctor’s appointments. Mom doesn’t drive anymore and so it’s been up to them to take care of that.
I’ve also had friends do stuff around the house for me, bring me food, etc.
But Mom takes care of so much of the day-to-day stuff. She helped me get my clothes on and shower after my brain surgery. She cooks meals for me when I am too tired to stand. She feeds the cat and waters my plants. She listens to me, makes me coffee, does the laundry, and gives me hugs and a shoulder to cry on.
Mom has helped me so much, but, 12 years ago, it was I that helped her.
Not just me, though. My ex-husband as well.
For all the hurt he caused me, he also did a lot of good.
One of the best things he did — he helped me save my mother’s life.
After my father died, my mother begged to be allowed to stay in the house she had shared with my father. The problem? My Dad had put my brother’s name on the house, not my mother. His reasoning was traditionally Indian.
In Indian culture, the eldest son takes care of the parents. My Dad knew that my brother made enough money to cover the mortgage and he assumed his son would care for his widow. He also knew I lived out of state and I was married, so it made sense that my brother would be the one to care for my mother.
As far as the finances — my father had spent far more on my education than he did on my brother’s, and had been prepared to pay for an elaborate Indian wedding. I decided against that option, but that was my choice, not my parents’. In the way of traditional Indian culture, my parents tried to take care of both of their children.
If my brother had been a decent human being, all would have been well.
However, my brother is an NPD. A classic narcissist.
He got married, forced my mother to leave her home of over 20 years so that he could rent out the house for quite a bit more than the mortgage, and moved her into the basement of the house he bought with his new wife.
Mom, who is arthritic, had to climb three flights of stairs to get to the bathroom.
She was isolated, because she now lived about an hour from her old neighborhood. The only way she could visit friends or see her doctor was if she drove on the highway, which she could no longer do.
Even though she is a diabetic, she was not taken to see her doctor for 18 months.
It was at that point that my husband at the time and I realized that she was suicidal.
Every time we talked to her, she was crying and more and more depressed. She was left alone in the basement. They got her Z-TV, which is an Indian TV network, to keep her occupied. My brother visited her for 5 minutes a day and figured that was enough. His wife never went down to visit except to give orders. Mom was supposed to do the laundry and other chores.
I found out later that in addition to not seeing a doctor, Mom hadn’t seen a dentist in 2 years, either. Prior to the move, she’d never had a cavity. However, after not getting any dental care for a while, she had developed one.
She also hadn’t had her hair cut in all that time. No one would take her.
They did show her how to get to the grocery store, which was close enough for her to drive to by herself. Then they had her do all the shopping.
My husband at the time had his flaws, but heartlessness was not one of them.
When he and I talked about how depressed my Mom had become, he asked me if I wanted her to come live with us. I did, but I had been worried about how to broach the subject, since it was his mother-in-law after all.
“She is going to die if we don’t take her,” he told me. “We can’t let that happen.”
So, we brought her home.
I honestly think it saved her life.
And while my ex and I had problems, Mom was never the cause of any of them. It took her over a year to emotionally heal, to leave the dark place that my brother had put her in. But once she emerged into the light, she became an important part of our household.
And now, years later, she is helping to save my life.
It is true — when you give, sometimes you receive the blessing back ten-fold.
I am fighting stage IV cancer. If you can help with medical bills, I would really appreciate it. Or if you enjoy my writing and would like to buy me a cup of coffee, that’s great too. Maybe someday I can return the favor.
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This post was previously published on Shefali O’Hara’s blog.
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From The Good Men Project on Medium
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Photo credit: Shefali O’Hara
