Yes, I have been 2,000 miles away from home for a month. Yes, I miss my wife, my children, my grandchildren. Yes, in all honesty, there is a part of me that would like to be somewhere else rather than sleeping on the sofa in my mother and brother's mobile home, taking care of my mother's age-related infirmities and my brother's broken (again) leg.
Part of accepting who we are is honesty.
It's a funny thing, though, spending time with Mom. With her recent time in the hospital, she's received a concrete indication that her heart is weakening. At ninety-one years of age, no one needed to tell her that she was in her sunset years, that the first stars are already lighting the sky. She's lain in the hospital bed, though, lain there in the solitude of night, listening to the dark bustle of the night nurses, a former nurse now an elderly patient.
I've been there with her; I'm here with her now.
"When it's your time, then not all the doctors in the world can save you. That's what Dr. Clay says. When it's your time, it's your time," Mom says.
And I listen.
And I hear acceptance, and courage, and peace--and even a wry humor. I hear love and gratitude, patience and perseverance. Wisdom.
I am a long way from home, but on this journey, who could ask for a better traveling companion? We are all travelers, and all travels end. With love and gratitude, with patience and perseverance, Mom is showing me the path, reminding me to watch my step, to be a good son, and to please enjoy the journey.