Mom and Madness

I flew to Moss Point yesterday. It will be the first time since my college years that I will spend more than a week home. I braced myself for the Mississippi heat, the horse flies that torment, and seeing my mom sick. She is recovering. A few weeks ago, she had surgery for cancer of the tonsils. My brother, sister, and I are rotating helping my dad as she gets better. It is my turn now. We’re hopeful. But it’s hard.

Time is ruthless in its indifference. People who once were invincible, larger than life, begin to slow down. Their eyes are not as bright. Their gait a bit unsteady. The mountain of medicines casts shadows over everything. Sickness intrudes and you see how frail they really are. You know, but you do not want to admit it, that time haunts. And that the inevitable truth that comes with life sits, waiting.

My brother, forever the big brother, tried to prepare me as I walked up the stairs to see my mom. “Her mouth,” he said. I didn’t hear what came next. Just saw his eyes and his hand point to his face. I thought about how he described her after the surgery: the swelling and the pain. How fragile she looked. I couldn’t be there then, but I was here now. I walked into the bedroom and saw my mom propped up with pillows. She smiled a crooked smile. I made her laugh. I looked into her eyes, and I was overwhelmed with emotion. She saw it. Of course, she did. She always did. She held out her arms, beckoned me to her, and said, “I’m ok. It’s going to be ok.”

I have to get myself together. I am here to help take care of her. Not the other way around.

Life is hard, even with its joys and beauty. No matter the chaos in the world, life is still happening. People have to pay their bills, raise their children, and bury their dead. They must tend to their folks. And they must do so in a country that has gone mad.

The drumbeat of war drowns out everything. Funny how they can find money for war as they cut social programs to fund tax breaks for the super wealthy. They refurbish old lies to justify their bloodlust. And we have to live with the consequences of it all alongside of the other things in our lives that demand our attention.

As I was flying home, I worried about my mom and the world as I read about the bombing of Iran. I kept asking myself, “What have these people done?” “How could they trust anything that comes out of the mouth of Donald Trump?” I kept thinking that the talking points sounded familiar – that this was the same framing that led to the carnage in Iraq. I kept seeing and hearing in my head Netanyahu’s sinister smile and Trump’s silly declaration of his love of God. A maddening repetition of America’s hubris.

I reached for Dr. King’s Vietnam speech, and there I found words worth repeating:

We still have a choice today: nonviolent coexistence or violent coannihilation. We must move past indecision to action. We must find new ways to speak for peace…and justice throughout the developing world, a world that borders on our doors. If we do not act, we shall surely be dragged down the long, dark, and shameful corridors of time reserved for those who possess power without compassion, might without morality, and strength without sight.

(Take a moment and read the entire speech: https://www.americanrhetoric.com/speeches/mlkatimetobreaksilence.htm)

But you know what? I cannot dwell on this right now. I have to take care of my mother. I cooked breakfast for her and my sister this morning. Watched my dad leave for the eye doctor. Battled the horseflies as I retrieved the garbage can from the curb. Listened to the thunder rumble, warning of a Mississippi summer storm. And the nurse just rang the doorbell.

I have to tend to the details of living. I am home with my momma. The madness be damned.