When Is It My Turn

Not so long ago, I was sitting in my comfortable chair watching NCIS with my oldest son, Bill.  He and I would banter over what shows to watch because he didn’t like most of my favorites and I was not a devotee of Nascar.  He was tired of Pawn Stars and certainly didn’t like Murder She Wrote.  He would watch some of the Hallmark mysteries with me.  He would also tie up the DVR recording all of his favorite shows so that he could watch them while I was at work or out of the house for some reason.

Father Ken once labeled me a St. Monica person.  St. Monica is the patron saint of caregivers.  As you recall Bill was an amputee and as such could not carry things while walking on the stairs and as a result I would do his laundry and sometimes carry his meals to him.  I was his chauffeur to eye doctor visits and when he needed to go to St. Margaret's the last couple of years.

On one occasion I casually looked over at him sitting on the couch and asked, “When is it my turn?”  To this day I regret that idle remark because while he spent almost four months in hospital beds and when he was so sick and in ICU in the last days of his time on earth he would ask. Are you there Mum?”  I would answer “Yeh!  Right behind you in the corner.”  One time he uttered, “You’re the best.”  I can still hear those words when I feel the lowest and I'm missing him the most.  It's been almost seven months since his passing and I'm moving on but for no reason at all I hear "You're the best" in my mind.

My point is just be grateful for what you have and don’t long to be in someone else’s place because it will come back to haunt you.  That year, I visited funeral homes seven times for extended family and I think that is quite enough.  

Even though it is nice to be pampered once in awhile, I'M NOT READY FOR IT TO BE MY TURN.