I had no idea that my mother would look so bad until I saw her last week.

The last time I had seen her, Mother was a happy, vibrant woman with a can-do spirit.  The woman whom I saw yesterday was like a totally different person altogether:  the woman I saw looked smaller somehow, with thin, nearly-white hair, leaning heavily on a silver cane for support, and looking as though a gust of wind could blow her over at any moment.

I know I hadn't been able to see my mother in a while, and I knew she'd been sick, but I didn't realize just how sick until I saw her.  Mother was fighting a whole host of health problems including type-2 diabetes (adult-onset), osteoperosis, chronic lung disease, congestive heart failure, and arthritis in her spine and knees. 

The reason why I hadn't seen Mother in a number of years was because of my own stubborn pride.  My career as a high-powered attourney in a lucrative law firm held more precedence than bothering to see Mother.  In addition to that, the last time I'd been home, Mother and I had gotten into a huge fight, and I remember telling her that I didn't care if I saw her alive ever again.  I then walked away from her.

I tried to put it out of my mind, ignoring pleading phone calls from Father, or his e-mails, detailing Mother's declining health. I didn't want to be bothered with family issues when I was clawing so hard to climb the corporate ladder.

Then came Father's last letter from last week.  He said that Mother was in a very bad way.  She had just gotten out of the hospital yet again and was very weak.  He begged me to come see her; there was nothing more that she wanted than to see me.

I relented, but then my conscience got a hold of me.  I knew I had nothing more to do than to see my Mother while I still could.

I visited Mother and Father yesterday at their house after I got off work.  They'd invited me for supper.  When I saw my beautiful, once-active Mother standing before me, looking like warmed-over death, my heart fell to my toes.  There was nothing more I wanted than to apologize to her for being so rude on my last visit.  She and I had fought over the grandkids and my job ("working too much"), and I left in an angry huff.

I began to think that Mother was suffering with her health on account of me.  I was sure that it was my fault, and I felt terrible.  I started to sob like a little boy as I poured out my apologies to my mother, asking her to forgive me for being such a terrible, thoughtless son.

Father was crying too.  He was busy trying to take care of her the best way he knew how, even though he, himself, had failing eyesight (macular degeneration) and the beginning slips of dementia.  I felt that my father's health problems were due to my pride as well.  I was an emotional wreck.

After I had gotten all the pent up anger and worry out of my system, I felt relieved, as if a giant rock had been lifted off my shoulders.  I told my parents I would make it up to them, for the past several yeaers of not calling or e-mailing them, or even visiting them, even on my days off of work (those were few and far between).

Today, I visited Mother and Father, and we had a nice, long talk (or did, until Mother began to tire).  As she napped, Father and I talked about our lives, and how we could mend our broken relationship.  It was a good day.  I plan on making many more good days for my parents while they are still well enough to be able to do things and be there for them.