The post below the carnation is the text of the eulogy I delivered at my mother's funeral in 2004. This rant & rave prefigures "burning bridges" posts to follow...
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| Mom's favorite flower, the carnation... |
"Mom died at twilight on the first day of autumn. But, for 88 summer days I was her primary care provider. I learned to do many things well that I had never imagined I’d ever do. And, at the cusp of turning 50, I finally learned to care for someone just like I would want to be cared for myself. Her’s were the only diapers I have every changed, and my success with treating her bedsores with raw aloe leaves was the talk of the medical staff. But this does not make me some kind of male Mother Teresa! There are 3 reasons why my recent work was not extraordinary, and I want to share each of them with you now.
First, I have lived with Mom on and off for years while writing about Mexican immigrants. She always took an interest in my research, and helped me financially, as well as intellectually and emotionally. She loved me unconditionally. I owe her everything...
Anyway, Mom and I watched ER reruns together every week. [She admitted having a thing for George Clooney (and Paul Newman...). I don't think that I ever mentioned having a thing for Juilanna Marguiles!]
Mom frequently said that she would hate to languish like one of those comatose patients that the show portrays as lifelessly hooked up to a machine. One evening in late June I reminded Mom that ER would be coming on in a half hour. However, stricken by a massive heart attack a few minutes later, she wound up in a real ER for the first time.
During her first hospitalization she asked me to help her die if she became helplessly institutionalized. Fortunately, that day never came. On that fateful fall morning some 13 weeks later, she lay in her own home, thanks to the hospice program. Burbling with what the experts call the “death rattle,” Mom still bent her legs and lifted her bottom up off of the bed so that I could change her diaper, her very last diaper. Mom was never a passive victim, and I am not an altruistic saint.
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| Viking burial at sea |
Secondly, I had a lot of help. My Big Sis relieved me on the weekends; my Bro on many weekday afternoons. A multitude of other family and friends frequently turned her room into a barely restrained party.
Mom also received 47 home visits from healthcare workers as well as round-the-clock assistance during 17 days in the hospital. I found it significant that most of these health providers were women, and almost every one was an immigrant. Mom would listen with wide eyes while I casually did what I do best, coaxing workers to talk about their home countries, families, lives, and dreams. These workers were from throughout Latin America (Chile, Costa Rica, El Salvador, Guatemala, and Mexico), and from around the world (Uganda, China, Thailand, and the Philippines). Each and every one of these workers taught me vital healthcare tips to help my Mom. So I did not do this work alone!
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| They could have been these women that I found on the Internet! |
Thirdly, I watched in absolute awe while complete strangers, many of them poorly paid and overextended, lavished genuine and abundant affection on my mother. What is such behavior if not unconditional and unrequited love? Even in her last days, Mom would marshal all her available energy to breathe out a wispy but heartfelt “thank you” to each of them.
If there really is a god somewhere in this vast cold universe, people like those that my Mom thanked deserve the greatest reward. And we native-born Americans should thank the stars above that we still have a nation with millions of immigrants. 2 decades of study already showed me that it is new immigrants that grow the food that nourishes our bodies from cradle to grave; now, in 88 days I also saw that the same sort of people tend our sick and comfort our dying. It was revealing to me that their simple dedication is of the sort that many Americans consider beyond the ability of the average son to perform for his own mother.
I am no martyr for trying to keep my Mom clean and comfortable for a few meager months. I only wish it could have been longer... Marta of Mexico, Alicia of El Salvador, Elizabeth of Uganda, Finnette and Alma of the Philippines, Xia Hu of China and countless others do this sort of work for infirm Americans year after year.
So, please save your praise for the immigrants who do the dirty, dangerous, difficult, yet necessary work of everyday life. And make your praise concrete by advocating a significant increase in the minimum wage, and by opposing all xenophobic laws and any racist American. As the Specials sang, “If you have a racist friend, NOW is the time for that friendship to end!” My Mom felt this way about the immigrants amongst us long before she became so intimately dependent upon them. One of Mom’s many positive attributes was that she was no hypocrite..."
