Trading Places: Personal stories from viewers

Submitted by cheryl lickona Mom and I one year before her death

My mother died not long ago. And yet, by the calendar, it is already almost 2 years. She died at home, surrounded by those she loved, in her own bed, just as she had always told me she wanted it to be. At the very end there were three little breaths, and then she was gone. It was as if she had tiptoed into heaven. 

She and I had spoken often of dying. It is one of the pluses of being there, you have time for these things. What would heaven be like she wondered, her eyes filled with that innocence that made her so endearing? Would she be able to find Daddy when there were so many people there? I honestly believe that she thought it would be like some celestial Grand Central Station. I told her that everyone she had loved would be waiting right there to welcome her, and it would be the most beautiful place that she could imagine, filled with sunlight and flowers and dancing and God. She wanted to believe me. And she liked the idea that she would finally meet the two babies she had miscarried as a young bride. Her heavenly family would be complete.

When she would worry that she was a burden to her family, I would ask her, had we been a burden to her as small children when we depended on her for everything we needed? At the end, as in the beginning of life, unconditional love is essential. And the fabric of our family is woven very tightly, not to be unraveled by this challenge. All her children were determined to do this, each helping in their own way. She used to tell me the story of when I began to walk, and how I would hold on to the hem of her dress to steady myself. Now I wanted to do the same thing for her.

I have been very lucky to help my mother at the end of her life. When I would meet friends that I had not seen in a while and tell them that I had chosen to spend this time of my life caring for first both my parents, and then just my mother, I would almost always see "Poor you" in their eyes. Many were filled with good suggestions on how I could get someone else to do this job for me. "You mustn't give up your own life". Not really understanding the very real choice that I had made.

Her last years were such a gift to me. We spent a lot of time together, the one essential element I have learned needed to cement an intimate relationship of any kind. We shared sorrows and small happinesses, and all the minutia in between. Our lives (her life really, I was along for the ride) became about essential things; sunny days sitting on the porch swing, hand in hand. Palm to palm, I marveled at how identical our hands were. Sunday morning brunches, one of the few meals that she relished with gusto, because eating had become almost a chore for her. "Better than a turkey dinner," she would say with a twinkle. When she could no longer garden, we would plan one together, and I would plant it outside her bedroom window. She was so thrilled that I had discovered her joy of gardening after so many years of urban ambivalence. But no matter how many flowers I planted for her she longed to be out there in the sunshine, on her knees, growing things. When I would try to give her one of my overbearing pep talks, trying to control the fact that she was fading in front of me, she would say "Please, just comfort me". And so I would sit next to her on the bed, my arm around her, gently rocking. She said it reminded her of when her own mother would rock her in the rocking chair. She loved to have her arm stroked, said it was better than any of the pills. These were our simple pleasures and our distraction from the pain and the doctors.

Time passes, and the pain of being that saddest of things, a motherless child, becomes less jagged. And here is the amazing thing. My love and my relationship with my mother has not stopped, but continues to grow and expand! I find myself being enriched by her life and her love in so many ways; sometimes it takes my breath away. Looking at photos of her throughout her lifetime, seeing her beaming smile, I am discovering, from this distance between heaven and earth, what a truly amazing, brave, sensitive, honest, powerful woman she was. And I am so intensely proud of her and how she touched everyone who knew her. So proud to be her daughter, hoping so much to be like her. Feeling the essence of her love with me always.
--Cheryl Lickona

My mother lives in a skilled nursing home five miles away from my Sacramenot home and it is such a challenge to not feel guilty even when I visit every other day. There's a balance that must be struck between living your own life and being a good daughter. There's another challenge: letting go of bad feelings for this mother who wasn't the most nurturing and becoming that nurturing person to her. If we value ourselves as good people, then we must do what is "right" for our parents. Letting go of the past, dealing with today, and offering love and caring without losing ourselves, is a daily struggle. I volunteer for it and know I win, too. --Anonymous , Sacramento, CA (submitted on Feb. 20, 2007)

My brother and myself who live 250 miles away from our mother recently just found out that she fell and broke her hip. She is 76 and lives alone in the house that both our mother and father (now deceased) raised us in. We have traveled back and forth to the Bay Area to be with her in the hospital and in the rehab facility that she now lives in. We both have jobs and family in Redding and find it difficult to be with her all the time. Our mother has friends and neighbors that come by and see her, but we know it is not their responsibility to care for her. We both feel the guilt not being there but know that we have our own responsibilites where we live. When we bring up the suggestion of mom moving closer to us she will not even think about it. She also will not even think about living in an assisted living facility. She wants live in care for her at her house, but how can we trust anyone, especially being so far away? --Anonymous , Redding, CA (submitted on Feb. 20, 2007)

Submitted by Anonymous The Nichols family 2003, left to right back row, daughter Amy, grandson Noah, daughter Nancy, father Hugh, daughter Betsy. First row granddaughter Aly, granddaughter Clover, daughter Judy and mother Penny.

My parents still live in the three bedroom, two bath dream house they built in 1955. In December of that year, they moved in with their two daughters, age 7 and 4. and went on to have two more (me in 1956 and my younger sister in 1959). They are both 81, soon to be 82. They still are active members in the small community of Batavia, Ohio where my father grew up. My mother volunteers at the hospital. My father plays saxophone in a band and has his own radio show of big band music on the local public radio station. They are both very active in the Presbyterian Church. So far they are fine. They are happy right where they are and have no desire to move out. But our problem is that my sisters and I live so far away from them. We're scattered across the country, from Eugene OR to Santa Fe, NM to Augusta, GA to Wilmington NC. My parents' neighbors, friends and the church help out, but we all worry that something will happen and they won't have an adult daughter to look out for their interests. Your series has gotten us all communicating about what to do. The four of us are going home to visit on Mother's Day. We'll be talking to the neighbors and the new minister so they know how to contact us and will let us know if something is wrong. And we will be having that important conversation with our parents about what happens next, whether it's assisted living in Batavia, or moving out of state so they live close to one of us, or just staying where they are with a little more help. Thank you for getting us all thinking about this. --Anonymous , Wilmington, NC (submitted on Feb. 20, 2007)

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