A Question

Yesterday was Spring officially. Nasty day. Today a bit windy, but beautiful. Ah, give thanks.

And
Yesterday I met a woman who told me of her mother--95 years old, in a nursing home in Everett, Washington. If I told all that she said, this post would be too, too long. So I'll skip to the important part, important for me.

Her mother had pneumonia not long ago, so this woman (I'll call her Lyla) packed up to go see her mother because she knew it would be the last time. But her mother got well. Lyla's sister called and said, "She's home; she's fine."
Lyla unpacked her bags and stayed home.

In her telling, she seemed a bit impatient with her mother for not dying at that time. I'm guessing she loves her mother, but she didn't sound like it, and she didn't say so. She didn't say she was glad to have her mother for another while.

Here's my question: does a person reach a point where she is too old to care about? Do her children just think she ought to die because, after all, what good is she doing anyone? Is it the expense of the nursing home? Is it that they have forgotten what their mother did for them?

I think of my Aunt Allie, 92, and feeling like she is no good to anyone. But the other thing she told me last night was how good Brett is to her. Brett, her son who lives there in her home. She said she is sometimes overwhelmed with how kind he is to her.

I love him for that. And I told her so. I also told her he should be good to her.

This is a serious question and one I will obviously think about again, because I will get old. I think. Maybe I hope that when my children tell a story about me, it will be clear that they love me. And I will say of them how good they are to me.

Well, I wrote this here, although I'm pretty sure no one will read it except a couple of my children. But I do think it may be a rather universal question.