Elena 
Reposted from January 17, 2009.
I kneel down and start my confession.
“Bless me Father for I have sinned, it has been 3 months since my last confession.”
and then I start the litany of areas of where I have fallen short, missed the mark and sinned. They are the usual list I suppose for a married mom with kids. I lost my temper with my husband, I didn’t pay enough attention to the older ones, and maybe too much spoiling for the baby, etc. And then I get to the subject of my mother.
I talk to my mom just about every day on the phone. She will call me as early as 7 a.m. although she will also call in the middle of the morning when I am doing school with the kids, or in the middle of the afternoon when I’m running kids places, starting dinner and trying to type a few medical reports. It rarely seems to be a good time when she calls, but then she goes to bed at 7 p.m. so by the time I have time to talk, she has been sleeping for a few hours.
But it’s not even the time that she calls so much that bothers me but the topic – which is her health. She’s always tired, or sore, or coughing, or has this vague strange feeling that she can’t shake so she refuses to do anything like go down to eat, or play the organ for mass, or go and get her groceries with the group.
So I tell Father that I have thin patience with my mother. Not that mom will ever know it. I let her talk and I respond here and there while I motion for the kids to sweep this, write that, do this problem or get a cup of juice for the baby. My mind goes over the things I have to do when I get off of the phone. And I usually always let mom sign off first, which she usually does because she has to go to the bathroom or lay down. I am the perfect sounding board.
But I’m not really present in our conversations. Mom starts in on her ailments and my mind starts to wander. I know that’s wrong. And I confess it. But after my confession at Christmas time I started to think about WHY I continue this behavior every day, for weeks and weeks, and then take it to confession. Why don’t I try harder to listen to my mother?
And the truth is because listening to her is scaring me. She is 81 years old and she has terminal cancer that will eventually take her life. And even though she is very self-sufficient and mobile and her cancer is very, very slow, and she has very good health except for that, I know that this is the tip of the iceberg. It probably is going to be downhill from here. And I’m scared for her. I don’t want to lose my mother.
I’m also bewildered. Because I don’t know what she is feeling, and thinking and how she really feels. I guess I want her to be more like Patrick Swayze, fighting to live his life to the limit until the end. I want her to fight. When she feels bad I want her to get mad at the cancer and will herself to go down and play anyway. But she won’t. And I am not sure that I can encourage her because I really don’t know what it is like to have terminal cancer and live with it every day. Mom says her fatigue is so profound it is like a great weight. How can I tell her to ignore it and move on anyway? I have no idea what she’s going through – and when I have attempted to suggest it, Mom has told me just that.
So I don’t listen because I don’t want to know. I just want to check in with her to see if she is reasonably okay, getting to meals and such and that she doesn’t need any extra supplies. My ears pick up when she mentions something a bit unusual, like her leg swelling up (that’s how we caught her blood clot and got her started on Coumadin). And I pray that she has more good days than bad, and that she still has time to see the kids grow up and to enjoy doing it. And I know she needs to talk it out (because I am just like her in that way!) but other than distracting her with talk of the kids, and encouraging her to participate in the things she enjoys, I can’t tell her it will be alright. I feel kind of useless.
So if there’s a sin here, it’s not impatience. It’s not intolerance. Maybe it’s denial. Because I’m not ready to lose my mother yet, and if I am not really hearing about her life with cancer, I can pretend a little longer that she’s fine she will still be there for us.
So for the last three years or so I have confessed pretty much the same sin. It just seems easier that way.