The
other day my sister said You are my hero.
Months
ago my friend Marguerite you are a saint.
I am,
of course, neither. Hero(ine) nor saint.
My
friend Shirley says it is a blessing,
what you do for your mother Jean.
I
agree that it is a blessing & a privilege to have this time with Jean. But it is a blessing grounded in my sister’s
generosity & support & her love for our mother, not in any propensity
on my part toward heroics or sainthood.
Last
Saturday, my sister & her husband David came over. David to help my brother Jason hang a door
& my sister to hang. She asked me
what I had done that morning.
I washed the dishes. I
replied.
From
the look on her face, I do believe that my hero status fell several notches.
I
didn’t explain that after the sun woke me, I took care of Jean’s morning
toilet. And I made breakfast: Fresh orange juice, an omelet with potatoes,
scallions & tomatoes, accompanied with a side of sliced avocado. I made sure Jean took her meds & finished
all of her protein drink. And I fed Eli
& let him out for his morning toilet.
I started a load of laundry, folded a completed load resting in the
dryer, took a shower & saw to Jean’s post-meal toilet. And I cut two roses to put in a vase in
Jean’s room.
And
then I washed the dishes.
Washing
the dishes seemed a heroic accomplishment in the midst of Jean’s breakfast,
Eli’s breakfast, an omelet for myself (with fresh jalapenos) & accompanying side but no freshly squeezed
orange juice, Jean’s toiletries, Eli’s
morning ritual, the laundry & my shower.
And remembering my own meds.
But
then my propensity for heroics & sainthood has been greatly exaggerated.
But my
appreciation of the wonder & joy to be found in accomplishing
the minutiae has never been exaggerated.
Even
washing dishes.
