Written in October 2014 during the last months of my mom’s life. She passed away on December 23, 2014.
Life can feel like a juggling act. Work and rest. Busy schedules and establishing healthy habits. Job tasks and everyday home tasks. Competing projects and resources at work. The urgent and the important. Our needs and the needs of others. Time for friends. Time to serve and minister. All too often, we have what can feel like too many balls in the air.
A week ago, just as the flight attendants made the “cell phones off” announcement, I received a text from my sister in Virginia: On my way to the hospital to meet Mom’s ambulance.
I was on my way home to Atlanta from Chicago. My mind had shifted back to work mode – adding new items to my ever increasing “to do” list, beginning to prepare for the week’s meetings. I love what I do, and work is always busy.
By the time I landed in Atlanta and drove the hour-plus to home, it was clear that I needed to head for Roanoke. I didn’t even take my suitcase out of the car – just threw in a couple of extra things and made it partway to Roanoke that night.
It was a serious situation with Mom when I arrived. The confusion that landed her in the hospital was getting worse, not better. CT scans, MRIs, EEGs – some information but not enough for a clear-cut initial diagnosis. Brief moments of being lucid and coherent surrounded by hours and hours and hours of being confused, incoherent or “out of it”.
I was still in juggling mode when I arrived. I’ll juggle this and work. It’s not the worst time for this to happen – no big events right around the corner, no trips to lead this month. I can go back and forth – carry the full load at work and be attentive here as well.
My sister – a day ahead of me on this round with Mom and with previous experience being on the front lines with less serious episodes – already knew what I would quickly discover.
Some things should not be juggled.
This is one of them.
Other things need to fall away for the moment.
Even if it means some balls get completely dropped.
And even if there is no one else to pick them up. (And even if your “identity” as the super-responsible one is on the line.)
So we sit and wait and hold her hand and sympathize about the itchiness of her EEG leads. We ask the “what is your name/what is my name/do you know where you are” assessment questions whenever she wakes up for a few minutes. We trade off spending the night beside her bed on the uncomfortable recliner. We try to sort out what the doctors are saying and which ones we trust if there are conflicting opinions.
I spend a few minutes here and there checking emails. I make arrangements for the dogs back in Georgia to be taken care of. I touch base quickly with a few members of my team. But all of that is in the odd minute here and there. For now, work and home are not part of a constant juggling act. They get glanced at, not juggled.
I know that I have it easier than many would: A capable team and a supportive employer who immediately say “We can make this work. What do you need? How can we help?”. I have a few financial resources that not everyone has. My daughter is currently in Georgia and able to help on the homefront. In the end, my choices have not had to be hard ones.
We’re a week into this. We’re still unclear what’s ahead. Or how long I’ll be here. But it’s an important time.
It’s a time that is best served by full attention.
A time that should not be juggled.
Betty's Thoughts 