CHICKEN SOUP and MY MOTHER
By Allan Lustgarten
There was a man who from humble beginnings achieved great financial success and had acquired all the material perks that come with it but never achieved spiritual fulfillment, feeling that there had to be a greater meaning to life and he would not achieve true success without discovering the true meaning of life. He was told that a Guru living in a cave high in the Himalayas possessed the knowledge he was seeking his whole life and thus he chartered a plane, bought the finest equipment, arranged for the most qualified sherpers to help him with this arduous climb up the mountain. After this long exhausting trip and climb up the mountain he enters the cave, sees the Guru and too tired for niceties and his burning desire for the knowledge he seeks asks “What is the meaning of life?” The Guru says “Chicken Soup.” The man is stunned and says to the Guru “you mean after all I have been through to get here, you tell me the meaning of life is chicken soup? And the Guru says “You mean it’s not?”
At the onset of what follows I would like it known that while I am entwined in this saga it is so not about me, but you’ll find your own meaning and I’m certain make judgments.
Every scenario about ones life story while unique to them is in my opinion shared by many who will relate to the preponderance of similar circumstances.
The once upon a time is that I had a sister six years younger than me and as a child and through life she had challenges that demanded my parents attention but very much excluded my childhood needs. In later life, I would often say “I was a parented orphan.”
My dad died at age 56 and my sister passed at 46. Life for mom was not easy given the
challenges of my sister and my father’s failing health for ten years prior to his death. My relationship with my mom was very contentious. Given my feelings of abandonment and my life challenges (no different than anyone else’s), I was as supportive as I thought I could be and more than I thought I should be.
Mom was very smart, very strong and lived on her own up to her 90th birthday. Took care of her banking, worked the healthcare system arranging medical appointments, rides to and from in-home therapies and services etc…And of course I was supportive during the more difficult medical situations ie. knee replacement, breast cancer etc. But she just knew how to push my buttons and every attempt I made at making the communication better always resulted in greater pain for me….
By Allan Lustgarten
There was a man who from humble beginnings achieved great financial success and had acquired all the material perks that come with it but never achieved spiritual fulfillment, feeling that there had to be a greater meaning to life and he would not achieve true success without discovering the true meaning of life. He was told that a Guru living in a cave high in the Himalayas possessed the knowledge he was seeking his whole life and thus he chartered a plane, bought the finest equipment, arranged for the most qualified sherpers to help him with this arduous climb up the mountain. After this long exhausting trip and climb up the mountain he enters the cave, sees the Guru and too tired for niceties and his burning desire for the knowledge he seeks asks “What is the meaning of life?” The Guru says “Chicken Soup.” The man is stunned and says to the Guru “you mean after all I have been through to get here, you tell me the meaning of life is chicken soup? And the Guru says “You mean it’s not?”
At the onset of what follows I would like it known that while I am entwined in this saga it is so not about me, but you’ll find your own meaning and I’m certain make judgments.
Every scenario about ones life story while unique to them is in my opinion shared by many who will relate to the preponderance of similar circumstances.
The once upon a time is that I had a sister six years younger than me and as a child and through life she had challenges that demanded my parents attention but very much excluded my childhood needs. In later life, I would often say “I was a parented orphan.”
My dad died at age 56 and my sister passed at 46. Life for mom was not easy given the
challenges of my sister and my father’s failing health for ten years prior to his death. My relationship with my mom was very contentious. Given my feelings of abandonment and my life challenges (no different than anyone else’s), I was as supportive as I thought I could be and more than I thought I should be.
Mom was very smart, very strong and lived on her own up to her 90th birthday. Took care of her banking, worked the healthcare system arranging medical appointments, rides to and from in-home therapies and services etc…And of course I was supportive during the more difficult medical situations ie. knee replacement, breast cancer etc. But she just knew how to push my buttons and every attempt I made at making the communication better always resulted in greater pain for me….
A few years before her 90th year I arranged to move her into a wonderful residence that her friends had moved to a year before and she was thrilled. It was a nice apartment with an efficiency kitchen, house cleaning provided, 2 meals a day in a dining room, many in-house activities and day trips and she was with her friends of 40 plus years. But it was not assisted living. You had to go down for your meals. Ill health meant that you could get temporary paid assistance but you would have to move to an assisted living facility…the dreaded words “a nursing home.”
On Mom’s 90th birthday I threw her a party with friends and relatives and just for consistency, it almost didn’t happen because of words between us. Two weeks later she hit the health wall. In the hospital for about a month and it was apparent that she could no longer live on her own. Now What? The moment I never wanted to contemplate, this was to my sister’s job but she inconveniently died 20 years prior. There was no avoiding the responsibility, it just was what it was and I proceeded to deal with it. Fortunately my business gave me access to Nursing Homes and I managed to get her into one in Manhattan that had an excellent reputation and was convenient for me to commute to since I live in the city.
By now you might be wondering about the chicken soup. Well it’s not easily explained, but might be found in the continuation of the story.
Now begins an incredible mixed bag of life experiences. First order of business is going to her apartment to break it down, going through all her clothing and possessions, setting aside clothing to take to the Nursing home. Taking coats I am certain she would never wear again to my house (if I gave them away it would be like she was dead). Given all the furniture and other sundry items to charity. Good news, I found my High School Yearbook that I thought I lost in my first divorce and a treasure trove of photos of my family going back to the 1920’s. This experience while natural when a parent dies is particularly troubling when she is still alive.
I should at this point make note that while mom’s physical being was deteriorating she had all her marbles…all!
While I previously stated that the nursing home had an excellent reputation, it’s not a place you want to be if you have all your marbles. You have needs that simply can’t be met with only one part-time physician and two nurses on the floor and a variety of aides making beds, helping some of the unable to eat, etc…
Fortunate that I own my own business, I started going up to the Home almost everyday trying to keep the doctors and staff proactive in her care. Then stuff really started to happen. If you get sick in the nursing home you’re sent to the hospital. And one day I get a call that she developed congestive heart failure and was taken to the hospital.
Every now and then in life some people would entertain the thought that they would like to play G_D. Well when you have power of attorney and are the health care proxy, you get to make life and death decision. Not fun. The first decision was to have or not have an angiogram. Since Mom was alert and aware we discussed it and she spared me with the decision and opted for it. In this teaching hospitals eagerness to perform the procedure and given the signing of permission one of the possible complications that could occur was not articulated….that plaque could be dislodged and cause problems. Some plaque broke off and circulation was not returning to her foot that was turning purple. Her health was fading rapidly and I fought to get her into intensive care but couldn’t save her foot which had to be amputated below the instep. The woman went through unbelievable pain and I was there almost everyday. Eventually she goes back to the Nursing Home. I’m still running…a lot and starting to fall apart, but then I get smart, I hire aides for her 7 days a week from Noon to 7PM so I know she’ll be clean and have at least 2 meals fed to her and I would have eyes and ears working for me. It was a big difference and the deterioration goes on and on the most common reoccurring condition of urinary tract infections, kidney problems, congestive heart failure and many back and forth trips to the hospital. The last life and death decision was the insertion of a feeding tube, which I did and would recommend…the patient will most likely die months after anyway, but you go on easier for the choice.
Now we’re really getting to the soup…Why was I doing what I was doing for my mom? I think I was starting to ascend the Himalayas. Mom wasn’t a bad woman, everyone liked and loved her and she would often tell me that during our many disputes, the inference was that only I didn’t like her. Well at age 65 I gave birth to a mother or my mother gave birth to me. She very much appreciated everything I was doing for her as she was now helpless and she told me so.
Her eyes would light up when I entered the room. She would introduce me and sort of show me off to everyone we encountered in the Nursing Home. And she would tell me how much she loved me. “Big!” Here is one a big revelation I had during that year and a half of her dying process. I was being the good parent to her that I wanted her to be to me all my life and although we never articulated that thought I believe she recognized it and appreciated it.
This terribly trying year and a half has, in many ways enriched my life and perhaps taken me at least half way up the mountain. At the beginning I tried not to take ownership of the uniqueness of the story. However, these feelings I now take particular pride in. Visit your family member as often as possible and then some….very few people do….it does s--k, it smells, you see people in deteriorative states of being you don’t want to think about and sometimes you might not be able to distinguish your own mother in a group of similar women….but when you see her reactions you know you’ve touched a life, not a new Mercedes or jewelry or golf clubs…a life.
If you can’t deal with death, stop reading now. But for me this is the best part. Most of the people that died in my life did so in a room by themselves. As the beauty of birth is a shared experience, I don’t feel you should leave the world alone. So the day came when it was ending and my mom went into a coma, the Doctor said it would be over relatively soon. So I sat next to her and held her hand and said things that I had yet to say, felt she heard me and knew she wasn’t alone. She was in the coma for about 48 hours, I was awake holding her hand for all that time, then her eyes suddenly shot open and she took about 10-15 deep last breaths and I watched her life leave her body and her spirit rise. What a wonderful feeling of helping and sharing in that ascent.
Now we’re really getting to the soup…Why was I doing what I was doing for my mom? I think I was starting to ascend the Himalayas. Mom wasn’t a bad woman, everyone liked and loved her and she would often tell me that during our many disputes, the inference was that only I didn’t like her. Well at age 65 I gave birth to a mother or my mother gave birth to me. She very much appreciated everything I was doing for her as she was now helpless and she told me so.
Her eyes would light up when I entered the room. She would introduce me and sort of show me off to everyone we encountered in the Nursing Home. And she would tell me how much she loved me. “Big!” Here is one a big revelation I had during that year and a half of her dying process. I was being the good parent to her that I wanted her to be to me all my life and although we never articulated that thought I believe she recognized it and appreciated it.
This terribly trying year and a half has, in many ways enriched my life and perhaps taken me at least half way up the mountain. At the beginning I tried not to take ownership of the uniqueness of the story. However, these feelings I now take particular pride in. Visit your family member as often as possible and then some….very few people do….it does s--k, it smells, you see people in deteriorative states of being you don’t want to think about and sometimes you might not be able to distinguish your own mother in a group of similar women….but when you see her reactions you know you’ve touched a life, not a new Mercedes or jewelry or golf clubs…a life.
If you can’t deal with death, stop reading now. But for me this is the best part. Most of the people that died in my life did so in a room by themselves. As the beauty of birth is a shared experience, I don’t feel you should leave the world alone. So the day came when it was ending and my mom went into a coma, the Doctor said it would be over relatively soon. So I sat next to her and held her hand and said things that I had yet to say, felt she heard me and knew she wasn’t alone. She was in the coma for about 48 hours, I was awake holding her hand for all that time, then her eyes suddenly shot open and she took about 10-15 deep last breaths and I watched her life leave her body and her spirit rise. What a wonderful feeling of helping and sharing in that ascent.
So thanks Mom even if you didn’t given birth to me until I was 65. I had a very fulfilling year and half of life with you. And there is chicken soup for everyone.
And you were right Mom when you would say during one of our encounters “one day you’ll miss me” and I rolled my eyes…you were right “I miss you.”
Look for chicken soup…you don’t know where or when you’ll find it but it will definitely make you feel better.
Allan Lustgarten is an advertising consultant specializing in recruitment, real estate and hospitality. Comments to: chickensoup1241913@yahoo.com
Allan Lustgarten is an advertising consultant specializing in recruitment, real estate and hospitality. Comments to: chickensoup1241913@yahoo.com
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