When a train horn wails I am instantly transported to the summer of 2006 when I boarded my first train. I was 24 years old and had just graduated from college. I was traveling with my mother from Salt Lake City, Utah  to Tampa, Florida, a four-five day train trip. A month earlier I had learned my mother had a brain tumor unlike any other that would be written up in medical books. My family asked me to take care of my mother during cancer treatment while my father kept working to be able to keep the health insurance. My first train ride was the beginning of a 9 month occupation as a caregiver that taught me about love and boundaries.

For those 9 months, I learned what is meant by love endures all. Up until that point in life, I had never had to make any great sacrifices for a loved one. I put my life on hold so I could sleep in the same room as mother, drive her to the hospital, spend 8-12 hours in waiting rooms, bring her food, water, medicine and change her dressings, listen to her cry, reassure her, and motivate her to be active. Without love, I probably would have walked away like I did when a relationship grew difficult in college. I mention this because I think it is easy to think that love means never having to suffer, at least not too much.

Before being a caregiver, I had the idea that one was a saint, someone who is positive all the time, and completely selfless. I had bouts of guilt taking care of my mother because I wasn’t this way. I had moments when I resented her because it didn’t feel alright to have a moment to go to the beach, to run off with a friend when they visited, or just sleep alone. My mother was scared and it was normal for her to feel desperate to keep me around. It was also normal as a caregiver to struggle and want to escape back to “normal” life.

For self perseverance and love for myself, I learned when and how to say no. It seems messed up to say no to someone who could be dead in a year but boundaries are important. When anyone is weak and desperate, there is a risk that they will keep taking until there is nothing left of you. If there is nothing left of you, you have nothing to give. The difficulty with saying no was that at first my mother thought that it meant that I didn’t love her.  Once I started to say no and take a day off once in a while, my resentment towards her started to fade and I was able to be stronger and give her more.

An aside note, I think resentment stems from not having a need met. Usually this happens because we aren’t communicating. And sometimes it means we need to set boundaries.

In the end my mother survived. Taking care of her was a gift. My mother and I are closer than we ever were before.  My mother gave me the opportunity to learn what true love is.

Thrift store / hand-me-down outfit

Vintage 1960s dress: no label found
Leather belt: thrift store
Vintage Ande’s brown clutch purse: grandmother’s hand-me-down
Vintage white gloves: grandmother’s hand-me-down
Suede green heels: Evan – Picone

Thank you Marcus Pierce for the photography.