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I was stopped at a gas station in Oklahoma, on a road trip with my kids to see the Grand Canyon, when my sister called with the news: My dad had suffered a stroke. I tried to conceal my tears from the kids as best as I could outside the car; it’s tough to mask such devastation. Once back inside, I slumped in my seat, realizing how comfortable I had become in my role as a mother, forgetting that I was still a child in this world. The days when I hung onto every word from my father felt distant; I was now a busy mom, often ignoring his calls and texts.
As we drove past fields and tumbleweeds, I wrestled with whether to continue the trip or return home. I desperately searched for any updates on my dad’s condition, but soon lost cell service. A single text came through: “It’s not good, Jamie. I’m on my way.” I felt trapped, staring out the window for four long hours, reflecting on how isolated we had been during the pandemic and regretting the time I had missed with my dad.
We didn’t make it to the Grand Canyon. I realized that if I continued my journey, I would lose contact with my siblings. Albuquerque was the closest airport, so I stepped out of the car and walked to the hotel room, feeling defeated. I sat on the bed and booked my flight home. In hindsight, I recognized it might have been my last opportunity to say goodbye to my dad.
Before entering the hospital, I was engulfed in the feelings of being a child again, combined with devastation. I felt angry at the world, mentally compiling a list of everything my father could no longer do. Could he even remember me? My worries about our future seemed to fade as I made my way to the Intensive Care Unit (ICU).
But as I entered his ICU room, something shifted. I shed my insecurities and fear, tapping into that innate strength we mothers possess. It’s that superhuman mode we access when our loved ones need us. It’s not an easy transition, but we find a way to be who our families need us to be.
When I reached my dad’s bedside, I smiled. I could see recognition in his eyes. We sat together, both in tears. I wasn’t prepared to care for my parent, but somehow, the skills I had developed as a mother came naturally.
During my time in the hospital, I supported my dad as he worked to regain his ability to walk, eat, and talk. And he did. I found comfort in my maternal instincts—adjusting his blanket, feeding him until he could manage on his own, applying lotion to his hands, and gently suggesting nap time. I celebrated each small victory, like when he first managed to say “Hi” on Facetime, repeating it joyfully. Each moment felt similar to the milestones I had witnessed with my children—seeing them crawl or ride a bike for the first time. Likewise, I will never forget witnessing my dad walk again or when we finally held a meaningful conversation.
Being there for my dad during such a challenging time is a decision I will never regret. It was one of the hardest yet most beautiful experiences of my life. I may not have been ready to parent my parent, but the skills I gained through motherhood equipped me to face this unexpected challenge.
I had momentarily forgotten that, even as a mother, I still held the identity of a child. Yet, the beauty lies in the fact that we can utilize our motherhood skills to care for our parents, guiding us through the most unforeseen and difficult moments.
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Summary:
This article reflects on the author’s unexpected journey into caring for her father after he suffered a stroke. Initially caught off guard, she discovers that the skills she developed as a mother equipped her to support her dad through his recovery. The experience highlights the duality of being both a child and a caregiver, emphasizing the strength and resilience that comes from motherhood.
Keyphrase: Parenting My Parent
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