My Mom …

My mom is now in a nursing home. And with three sisters who oppose my taking her home with me, I can’t.

She reminds me that while growing up I was her little buddy. I was the one who went to church with her every Wednesday night, stayed home from school and cleaned house with her, read aloud to her the stories she wrote. We were too much the same not to be close. But we inevitably blossomed into two different flowers. I started paying somebody else to clean my house when I was in my 20s. I grew much more spiritual, but less religious. And I was compelled to share my evolution, even my misgivings, with Mom. To leave my truth unspoken would have grown distance, rather than love.

And I am forever grateful that I didn’t let our relationship turn pseudo. And, each time I visit Mom, I am immeasurably grateful that she knows my home, and anything else I have, is hers.

When we choose to do what we believe is right, we can be at peace, regardless of the outcome.