[Nursing Care] Because my family is waiting

My mother returned from her short-stay facility at 11:30 in the morning. About three hours earlier, the center director had told me,

It's Christmas Eve today, so there's an event, and I suggested she eat lunch before heading home, but no matter how many times I said it, she just smiled and didn't give me an answer. So, I asked her one more time, because my family is waiting,she said. So, I'm very sorry, but could you please have her eat lunch at home?

That was the phone call I received.

Well, I thought, I'm paying for this, so why couldn't she just eat lunch there? But something about it felt strange.

It was right after I had finished my first lecture. I felt I had to go to Osaka. There was someone I wanted to see.

However, I panicked, thinking that if I didn't act before Christmas, I wouldn't be able to book a hotel or a Shinkansen ticket, so I decided to go on a three-day, two-night trip to the Kansai region.

The problem was my mother, who required nursing care. In times like these, the best thing to do is to ask the care manager. So, a few days before my departure, I made a difficult request. It was a last-minute thing, and it wasn't even clear if I could find a place that had an opening.

However, I couldn't just casually ask for a short stay for my mother. My mother still carries deep wounds in her heart. Moreover, she is convinced that a short-stay facility is like a nursing home—a place to be abandoned. Therefore, I had to be very careful in choosing her first short-stay facility. If she felt even a little bit scared, I was sure she would never agree to a stay again. I explained these circumstances and begged the care manager for help.

Come to think of it, I recently received a notice from the city office about renewing my My Number card, and I just realized it's already been five years since that summer. It's been six years since my mother, who had been living far away, started living with her daughter in Tokyo.

My mother came to our house after everything was thrown away by her children. Even now, she sometimes talks about how it felt like she had witnessed her own death while she was still alive. Except for a few meager belongings, everything my mother owned was discarded right before her eyes in the blink of an eye. My mother couldn't believe that such a thing could actually happen. Of course, for me, living far away, it was something I couldn't even imagine.

My mother recently said, 'After your father died, I was scared.' In any case, a few years after losing her husband, my mother was beyond lonely in the countryside, and no one was cherishing her.

For the first few years after we started living together, whenever I reached out to help my mother, who had bad legs, she would brush my hand away. I don't think she meant any harm. She did it reflexively. When getting into a taxi, getting out, getting on a train, getting off, or at the front door, my mother would repeatedly brush my hand away. Each time, I felt something I couldn't put into words.

Then, in October, my mother collapsed.

Since then, as full-scale nursing care began, there was a change. My strong-willed mother, who used to brush away even my hand, became incredibly selfish.

Carrying meals three times a day to my mother sleeping on the second floor and bringing them back down was an incredibly heavy burden for me, as I had just started my own business. On top of that, the morning face-washing, waste disposal, and body-wiping were burdens that made me feel like I was going to collapse. Even though I told myself to hang in there until the nursing care certification came through, there were days so hard that I felt like I would break.

Yet, my mother, who used to brush off her daughter's hand, became irritated with me because I no longer had time to talk. Like a spoiled child, she would complain that I wasn't by her side. What on earth was going on? Even though it was so hard that I wondered if I was her slave, she demanded that I come closer and keep her company.

I had no choice but to sit by my mother's bed for 10 minutes a day, stroking her aching back and legs while talking about trivial things. It was around that time that my mother started holding my hand. I thought, 'No way,' but she would hold it. And while holding it firmly, she would sometimes wrap my hand in both of hers and bring it to her face. Then she would say things like, 'Oh, there is no old person as happy as I am.'

Eventually, my mother's selfishness faded away.

My mother was discarded by my siblings along with all her belongings. I suppose no one can erase that from my mother's memory. After living a life full of hardship, she never expected that in her 80s, she would be thrown away by her children like trash.

Since we started living together, my mother and I chatted, went on family trips, and even went out to eat many times. Even so, my mother always brushed my hand away.

And yet, now we take baths together, I carry them to move around, wash their back, wash their hair, and soak in the tub together while talking about the old days. They talk nostalgically about when I was three years old. They talk about things that can't be verified, like how they used to talk with Dad about having Umi take care of them in the future, as if it happened just yesterday. It's quite a carefree attitude. Even though this is the same person who was brushing my hand away until just recently.

And today, saying that my family is waiting, I came home without even worrying about the cost of the one-day stay. When I sat in Mom's usual spot in the living room, she started talking happily about her short-stay facility. She said it was a south-facing room, the food was delicious, and they took very good care of her. It seems she even made some friends.

Then Mom fell fast asleep.

At night, our family celebrated Christmas Eve. Mom sat in her seat with a smile and chatted happily. It was our fifth? or maybe sixth Christmas Eve night. She used to drink wine, but now she only drinks tea. Even so, Mom says things like, 'There's really no place like home, is there?'

Even though she was brushing my hand away just the other day.

Now, Mom holds my hand without hesitation.

*Thank you for reading until the end.

*I also talk about this on Stand.fm.