Taking care of Mom

I fixed my mother's hair, giggling with her over how thin and straight it was compared to my thick, unruly curls. I helped with her shoes, teasing that, someday, I must teach her to tie them herself. We went shopping for necessities and gifts for her grandchildren. I slept in the same bed with her, letting my warmth and strength permeate her.

Of all these memories I have, the day I first helped her shower is the one that will remain with me forever. I had never seen my mother totally naked before. I took her arm and guided her to the support bars as she manoeuvred carefully into the shower. She sat on a special chair and I went to work, my tears mixing with the lukewarm water. I lathered the soap and washed her. She sat stoically beneath my inexperienced hands, smiling faintly, water streaming down her face. She looked so much like her own mother then.

The shower tired her and so she sat quietly as I applied lotion to her fragile skin. First her face, then neck, shoulders, and finally her breasts.

"Oh," she smiled. "The homemakers never do that!"

"Well, you don't want your breasts to shrivel up, do you?" I replied.

We giggled then in the tiny bathroom, where she sat naked except for a towel around her shoulders. I wanted more than anything to hold my mother and give her a piece of my youth, my health and my strength. And I realized, then and there, the treasure of my mother and my good fortune in being her daughter.

Sue Farrell Holler is a mother, daughter and freelance writer based in Grande Prairie, Alta. Her mother died in Cape Breton, N.S., on March 22, 2008, while holding Sue’s hand.

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