This past week has been eye opening. No pun intended. Well, maybe. My mom had a close call with her vision and surgery needed to happen asap. I am her mother now, you know. For the past several years we have been living a role reversal in our relationship. I’m the 53 year old baby of the family. But regardless of birth order, I have taken it upon myself to worry about her, look after her and scold her when need be. Like when she wears white socks with black old lady shoes and dark pants that are too short, or bobby pins in her hair, or when she doesn’t pick up after herself.

We are as different as we are alike. I’m friendly with a conservative edge. She’s friendly with an extra side of sticky sweet. It’s rare to take her anywhere without her stopping to thank random employees for their hard work. They could be emptying the trash, but she’s sure to stop and let them know their work doesn’t go unnoticed and that their job makes a difference. She has this unwavering need to connect with people and to be quite honest, it annoys me to pieces. It’s embarrassing when she is habitually poking her head into stranger’s conversations or striking up some sort of dialogue with people quietly minding their own business in a restaurant. My eyes roll as I mutter under my breath, “oh lord…. here she goes. Couldn’t she please sit down and blend into the background?”

When we got word that her eyes were in danger of total vision loss or significant impairment, we wasted no time packing up and heading to the other side of the state where surgical intervention could take place. Mom as calm as ever, her faith allowing her the ability to feel a sense of peace; safe and accepting of whatever the outcome may be. Me, a nervous wreck as the daughter and nurse in me repeatedly runs through my mental checklists, “did you pack your medications, did you take your Coumadin (blood thinner) out of your med box, remember you can’t take that before surgery! Do you have your insurance cards? Did you unplug unnecessary small appliances? Did you lock your doors? Did you bring your keys? Yeah, I’m enough to drive anyone to drink. She handles me better than I would handle me.

We check in to a nice hotel, because even medical stuff can be turned into a little vacation, right? We decide to sit in the quaintly decorated lobby before turning in for the night. After all, it’s after 8 pm and we have a long day tomorrow. We sit by the festively decorated Christmas tree, soft holiday music playing in the periphery. We are sipping tea and admiring the tree ornaments and miscellaneous decor. A “mature” couple appears at the self-serve coffee and tea bar. The Mrs. is hobbling along with a cane. An attractive lady likely in her late sixties early seventies. The Mister is older, mid eighties at first guess. They are selecting their tea bags of choice and I can see my mom’s wheels spinning. She is yearning to talk to these random strangers. I’m biting my tongue, “mom….did you see the pretty tree topper?” Hoping to distract her until the couple disappears to their room. Nice try, Colette. Once my mom made eye contact with the lady the rest of our evening would unfold in an unexpected (but not totally surprising) manner.

“Hellooooo” mom announces in her sweet voice. The lady turns and gives a half smile. “Where are you here from, long day traveling? “Um, we are here from about 1/2 hour west of the Chicago airport.” “Well, I bet you’re tired, would you like to come sit with us, we are just visiting by the tree, isn’t it beautiful?” “Umm yes, I don’t see why not. Not sure where my husband scooted off to.” Husband quickly returns and joins us. Within moments, my mom and her new friend “Carol” are sharing knee replacement stories and giggling like long lost friends. Carol’s husband “Don” sitting next to her in the soft blue upholstered chair that is the epitome of hotel lobby furniture. A sweet, patient smile on his face.

My mom wastes no time enlightening them as to the issues with her eyes and why we are here in the first place. Don lights up and takes delight in telling her he had a similar situation five years prior while vacationing in Reno, Nevada. They instantly connect and converse over their commonalities like they’ve known each other for years. Don reassures her she will do fine and between him and his lovely wife, they recall, in detail, about the recovery process. Our conversation somehow morphs into home decorating and my mom tells Carol that she and I don’t agree on that one bit. Me, preferring more of a minimalist aesthetic, she a hodgepodge of stuff she’s collected over the years, in addition to her frequent finds at the dollar tree (junk, as I usually point out.) Carol smirks and adds that I sound just like her daughter. She tells us of the items of sentimental value she loves to display, like the felt tablecloth her uncle made and gifted her with many years prior. My mom lights up, adding that that stuff if right up her alley. Carol pipes in, “I try to send some of my holiday treasures home with my granddaughters to enjoy, but it comes right back to me, my daughter telling me she doesn’t want that junk.” We all laugh because it resonates so familiar. I tell Carol my mom and I love each other dearly but can fight like cats and dogs. She affectionately assures me that “mothers and daughters are complicated…. it was like that with me and my mom and it’s the same with me and my daughter.”

More than an hour has passed, and we collectively determine it’s a good time to retreat to our rooms for the night. We exchange room numbers and they assure us they will check in on mom tomorrow. Mom and I go to sleep with a sense of peace and comfort knowing there are such great people in the world, in our world.

The surgery is Monday and in true Linda fashion, she is upbeat and optimistic. She flirts with every male healthcare worker she comes in contact with. They love her spunk and play right along, finding her humor contagious. I’ve succumbed to the fact that this is my mom’s personality and after more than eight decades on this earth, my uptightedness isn’t going to change that. Nor should it. We work on crossword puzzles together, me giving out the clues, and together we try to guess the mystery words. It passes the time and we enjoy each other’s company. “I trust God, it will work out as it is meant to, I’ve had 82 years of vision, if I come out with only one good eye, it’s okay. I am so thankful for the skilled professionals and appreciate whatever they can do to help me.” A lump in my throat, she has dealt with a lot in her lifetime, but never fails to recognize the good in every situation, the good in every human being that walks the face of this earth.

Surgery goes without a hitch. We head out for a late lunch/early supper, me teasing her that she is a cute pirate, eye patch in place. I lead her around, her eyes dilated and vision compromised as her eyes start to heal. I tuck her into bed at the hotel, making sure her head is in the proper position as directed by the surgeon, so that the gas bubble that is helping to repair the detatched retina, can do its thing. She assures me I need some time to myself and encourages me to go roam around Target while she naps. A deal too good to refuse, I take her up on it. When I return a couple hours later, she boasts that Carol and Don were just there and spent most of the time I was gone visiting with her, Carol presenting her with a candle that displays the words “Blessings are everywhere.” They had already exchanged phone numbers and addresses.

We sleep well and the next morning mom and I leisurely have breakfast together before deciding to get ready for the follow up eye appointment. I jump in the shower and follow my typical daily “get ready” routine. I’m sitting on the bed, hair wrapped in a towel, turban style. Pajamas on. My magnifying mirror in hand, as I carefully apply my makeup. We hear a rap at the door. Assuming its housekeeping alerting us that we are late for checkout, I hide behind the door and crack it open. It’s Carol and Don. They popped in to say goodbye to their new friend and make sure she’s doing okay. We invite them in and they sit and visit, me carrying on with my task, disregarding the fact that I typically wouldn’t be caught dead like this. Mom laying on her left side on the bed in the fetal position, adhering to her postoperative instructions. We are carrying on as though we’ve know these people our entire lives. Seems like we have. We part ways with hugs and promises to keep in touch.

The follow up appointment goes great. Everything looks as it should at this point in time. We prepare for the long trip home, deciding to stop at Joann’s Fabrics to sift through their sale items. I round the corner to find mom hugging a fellow shopper that is adorned from head to toe in Christmas attire. A bald head with snake tattoos on the back of her scalp and poinsettia decorations on the front of her head, framing her face. Her dress is festive, almost resembling a tree skirt. Her smile radiant and mom is immediately drawn to her. I feel like she may have escaped from a mental institution. Mom sees nothing but a woman passionate about the holiday. Mom names her “Merry” and the woman thinks that’s the greatest. They hug and before we leave the store, we are invited to her house for cookies, which we had to decline. “Okay, promise me next time you’re in the area you’ll come knock on my door. She announced her address, it’s a red house. Knock at my door, can’t wait to see you again!!”

We head for home, I remind mom to put an entry for next Tuesday on her calendar when she gets home. “We have to do a road trip to Petoskey for your next eye follow-up.” “Oh, aren’t we just like Thelma and Louise??” “No, I think we are just Colette and Linda. We are own thing.” We laugh. Blessings are everywhere.