Hospital Reflections

I watched her chest. In and out. In and out. Shallow breaths. “Take a deep breath, Mama.”
Her eye lids flicker. She breathes more deeply. Once. “Do it again.” She does.
“Oh God, keep her breathing.”
Later, when she is stronger, I walk the endless halls. Then back to the chair
in her room. My parents are growing old. They shouldn’t.
They are too young. Too involved. Too important.
My mother’s body is growing old. But her spirit remains young. Tonight she will
tremblingly crawl out of bed, push her I.V. pole into the bathroom, and return to
bed. Independently. Why should one call a nurse to do what one can do alone?
I admire her courage.
I worry about her safety.
She can’t see well now. But once she drove narrow country roads in snow storms.
“Keeping it between the ditches,” my Dad said. Her bones break easily. But
once she helped bring in the hay, and milked the cow—and the goat.
Now she writes letters and sends food to neighbors.
But once she organized a Mothers’ Club, and 4­H
and Home Bureau and church bake sales.
Only the circumstances are different. The grit, the determination,
the caring are the same. A spirit, a mind can remain young­­
even as a body grows old.
Thank you—little Mama. You keep on teaching me.

By Linda L. Gage