Teamwork

All hands! All hands on deck! Let’s go.

This is the start of a night-time sailboat drill. I write “all hands” cause I know that is the cry of the crew on deck. Yet I have no memory of hearing it from my bed. I’m being pulled out of the deepest sleep into a flurry of coordinated, precision teamwork. I am still sound asleep for the first few moments as I head for the main hatch. Got to take down the spinnaker, quick before the wind tears it to shreds.

But here’s the thing. I’m not in a sailboat race here. I am taking care of my dying mom at night. Her labored breathing on the monitor cues me that she needs help. I am rushing through the door that separates us, not sure what I will find.

Night time is scary and beautiful and tranquil and terrifying. All at once.

Just like a sailboat race, I’m called out of the deepest sleep.

Just like a sailboat race, I don’t exactly know what is going to greet me as I come onto the scene. Is she rising to get out of bed, is she out of bed, did she make it to the commode without me, did she fall on her face in a pool of pee and anguish?

Just like a sailboat race, I will need to integrate myself into a working team (my mom and her addled brain), who may not be doing things the way I would. Ok, let’s get you over to the pottie. Mom, you’ve got to move your feet just a little bit (the pottie is right next to her bed). That’s it. Good. Close enough. Now sit down. Good… she pees… The crisis settles a bit. Everyone knows what to do next. Let’s put on a new set of undies, Mom. Here they are. Mom, you awake? Ok, then, let me get it started. Lift your foot. Step in. I’m going to pull it up a little. Ok. How bout you stand up now. Mom are you awake? Let’s stand up so you can go back to bed. That’s it. I’ve got your nightie, so pull up your panties… that’s it…back toward the bed…put your butt down, Mom… lie back. Bella (the cat), you’re in the way… brush her away... Ok, Mom I’m going to lift your legs onto the bed. There we go. Good. ..pulling on the covers. You OK, Mom?

I look out at the moonlight on the water outside her window. It is perfectly calm out there. Not a ripple on the bay. A beautiful May night.

It makes me consider what I’m doing here. That’s a long story.

Good night, Mom. I love you. Don’t forget to call me when you need to go again.

Just like a sailboat race, this campaign of care; the nightly pattern of peeing and pantie changes; will end.

Just like a sailboat race, I look forward to the end.

Just like a sailboat race, I know I’m going to miss it when it is over.

Unlike a sailboat race, when it is over, my brothers and I are going to quietly let the vessel sink. And step back onto our own vessels, and sail on.