Godspeed

When we got married Husband asked his parents what they would like me to call them, and they said "Why, Mom and Dad, of course."

I hated that. I already had parents whom I adored, and it seemed wrong to call someone else by their nicknames, as if I were being disloyal to that love. So I spent most of the three decades I knew my in-laws avoiding the issue. I would call them "Husband's mother and dad" or their first names if I was talking about them to someone else. When the Boys came along they became Grandma and Grandpa. If I couldn't avoid direct address, I would say MOM or DAD in a slightly higher-pitched tone--it just wasn't natural for me to call these people Mom and Dad.

But a month ago the hospital needed a health history as our frail 91-year-old widow was being checked in for observation following her latest fall. "I'm her daughter-in-law," I told the nurse. "Is it okay if I'm the one who does this?" The nurse looked at me. "How long have you been married? Thirty years? She's your mother now, too."

Friday morning Husband got a call from the retirement village. We've come to dread the sight of that number on the caller ID and this call was no different. Still recovering from the fall of four weeks ago, my mother-in-law apparently had suffered a minor stroke. What did we want to do?

We had talked about this possibility during the rapid decline of the past few months, and we agreed that nothing was to be gained by a trip to the emergency room where she would lie on an uncomfortable gurney for hours. Instead, we called hospice.

That morning I sat with my mother-in-law and held her hand. With recent loss of appetite she's also lost any extra flesh she might have had and I could feel every bone in her fingers, every pulse of a vein. She looked at me, gripped my hand and tried to talk but could only manage frustrating nonsense syllables. Finally I began to sing in my unlovely voice, old hymns that she had so often played on the piano. She closed her eyes and slept.

The next day comfort care was in place, and when I visited she was in bed. She didn't rouse when I took her hand.

"I don't know if you can hear me," I whispered, "but I want you to know that I could not have asked for a better mother-in-law. You never came between Husband and me, and you always thought I was a better person than I actually am. Thank you for that, and for raising such a good son and for being glad I married him. I love you, Mom."

The final call came yesterday at mid-afternoon.

She loved her family, especially her three boys, intensely and and with unwavering loyalty. She loved stuffed animals and eating at McDonald's.

Her name was Jeanette, and she was my mother, too.