THE LONG ROAD TO MOM By Terri White

THE LONG ROAD TO MOM
By Terri White
 
The older I get, the more involved traveling has become.  No throwing in clothes and a few toiletries. I need an arsenal of my vitamins and supplements, special shampoo and lotion, eye drops, essential oils, emergency items that shall remain nameless, and the whole kitchen sink. Well, I just threw in that last item for fun.
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Clothes. Decisions, decisions. Casual? Dressy? Easy care? I generally choose easy-care options. Nothing fancy. No extra jewelry. Minimum makeup. Life is too short to fret. Take me as I am.

Then I gear up for the loooong drive.  That means no skipping the exercise regime, which, if you know me, is soooo boring. Nevertheless, I step up to the plate anyway because my body suffers on those 700-mile drives.  (My English teacher would disapprove of all those ‘Os’, but since I’m the English teacher now, I can do what I want. Does that sounds like a two-year-old stomping his foot?) 

Readying our yard for our absence proves no small task for my husband. In Texas with 90-degree temps, he must water everything before we leave.  And then it needs watering during our absence.  Hence, we recruit our son who only lives two blocks away - someone we can trust to keep our plants alive. So no worries while gone. A huge relief. 

Do we bring food or stop for meals? Feeling frugal (usually) or not?  A coin toss? However, since my husband is addicted to hamburgers, guess which option we choose?

At the crack of dawn, Steve readies the car, stuffs tools in the back, and packs our suitcases, our high hopes, some books, lifelong memories, his guitar, uncertain anticipation, and extra pillows.  And we’re off.

The trip: long and boring. Steve plugs into his music and I into my book.  Mostly, we travel in companionable silence.  Besides, he’s hard of hearing, so chatting in the car proves challenging for him.  Like most men, Steve hogs the driving. Fine by me. I hate driving. Two hours max, while he naps, then I hand back the keys.

The farther north we travel, I shift my gaze from my book to the scenery. Sigh. Towering trees dressed in their lush, green finery dot the verdant rolling hills. Sometimes we drive through walls of fragrant pines. Eventually, we wind our way through the Tennessee hills with those hairpin turns, crowded in by the forest. All a feast for the eyes.

For most of my adult life, I lived away from my parents.  While raising our children, my parents faithfully visited us, but we trekked up to Wisconsin, too. Now, on the home stretch with our last remaining elder, my emotions are admittedly mixed. I love my mom and long to see her, but she longs to leave this world.
 
At age 97, my mom continues to wake up every morning and wonders why in-the-sam-hill she’s still here. In 2020, she turned blind. Now she sits in a chair all day, not able to read or get around easily, with nothing to do. I imagine that she sleeps a lot.  I worry that she’s bored and lonely. Fortunately, my sister lives nearby to check on her.

Maybe this will be the last time I gaze at her beautiful face, massage her feet and legs, and share stories about my life with her.  Maybe. No matter what, we will take that long drive and make every moment count while there.

This year, we will return home with my mom’s beloved secretary desk, her most treasured piece of furniture. Of course, I don’t need it, but I will love seeing it every day as a sweet reminder of her.