A Glorious Challenge

— Rose Matuszny

One evening, at the end of the semester in my fourteenth year at the university, I received a call that would change the next two years of my life.

I was grading papers at my favorite coffee shop when I received a call from my brother Frank. What I thought was a welcome interruption instead made my heart drop. He said, “I think Mom may have had a stroke.”

Mom was eighty, had worked in Tampa 40 years as an RN, and was living alone since dad’s death ten years earlier. Though Frank lived nearby, Mom spent much of her time alone, managing Parkinson’s and recurring mini-strokes. Frank described his visit with Mom that morning and how she had incurred a sudden headache. He told me that he had to leave for work, said goodbye, thought things were okay, but said that all day he had an uneasy feeling he couldn’t shake. I advised him to immediately check on mom’s condition, including her ability to talk and raise her arms, and to call an ambulance, if needed. I told my brother, “Once I tie up loose ends, I’ll drive the twelve hours home to Florida.” By the next day, I arrived, exhausted.

Mom had been admitted to the hospital. It was confirmed that she had a stroke. Walking into her house brought me to tears. The once-welcoming home was nearly impassable. Every room was filled with clutter, the smell of rodents, the signs of long-hidden depression. Mom had slowly stopped caring for the house. I knew that if she were ever to be able to return home, I would have to make it a healthier living space.

The next two years for our family were a whirlwind. Mom spent the one hundred days allowed by Medicare in rehabilitation, relearning how to speak and swallow. During that time, I finished my teaching semester, took a leave of absence for the next semester, and worked full-time to clean and reorganize her 3,500-square-foot home before her return from the rehab center. I visited her regularly and managed to go through and pay the pile of bills she had ignored for months. Her beloved dog, Skippy, was the bright side of these days for me, taking her for walks, feeding her, and enjoying her company. Because of work schedules or distance from mom’s house, the rest of my family had little time to help.

Despite all my efforts, the house wasn’t finished by the time Mom was discharged from rehab but, at that point, it didn’t matter. I knew she wouldn’t be well enough to live alone in her big house. Because I had to return soon to work, I decided that Mom and Skippy would come back with me to the mountains of North Carolina.

The new challenge for me now was to juggle my work and Mom’s caregiving. I immediately arranged for people to check in on mom while I was at work. Before I left each day I would feed and help mom dress and set up what she needed for comfort and safety. Evenings included dinner, tending to Skippy, and the simple bedtime ritual of helping Mom change into her night clothes, washing her face, taking care of her teeth, tucking her into bed, and singing to her our favorite silly song, “Good night, Momma. It’s time to go to bed.” The song made her giggle every time. On weekends, to provide each of us with a change of scenery, we took drives through the mountains together. I dubbed her my “cute roommate,” and for the whole of my school semester, we found a rhythm.

At the same time, I was navigating a divorce. I don’t know how I managed it all. Soon I realized I needed to quit my job and sell my house in order to devote myself full-time to Mom’s needs. These two decisions probably saved my sanity. I moved Mom back to Florida, spent time finding a temporary assisted living facility for her, close enough for family visits, and allowing me to return to North Carolina to put my house on the market. After seven grueling weeks of sorting, selling, and moving the remaining contents of my home into temporary storage, the house sold quickly. Then I drove back to Florida to finish preparing Mom’s home for her return.

Unfortunately, Mom’s health declined. She endured another stroke, a broken hip, recurring infections, and more rehab. Despite her decline, I was sure I could bring her home, making her home livable again. One evening, while cleaning, I was suddenly overwhelmed by an urgency to be with Mom and drove to visit her. She was lethargic but smiled when she saw me.

Trying to avoid the word “dying,” I asked Mom, “Are you going to fly away?”

And she nodded, yes. So, I promised to bring her home within the week. Hospice arranged for her a hospital bed, music, and prayer. A therapist sang her favorite Sinatra songs. Family gathered. The next afternoon I stepped upstairs briefly to finish preparing a room for overnight family stays. Fifteen minutes later, my daughter Brittany, who had just arrived, called to me softly, “Mom, I think Grandma is gone.”

When are we ever ready for life’s challenges, especially the loss of a beloved parent?

My challenges came in the middle of professional demands and personal upheavals, forcing me to confront what truly matters. The fragility of aging and the brevity of time became clear to me, as did the strength needed to take hold of many responsibilities at the same time. Most importantly, I learned that no career obligation outweighs being present for those we love.

If I could have done anything differently, I would have released every distraction I encountered sooner, and would have spent more uninterrupted time at my mother’s side.

The time I did spend with mom was a glorious challenge that I will treasure forever. In the end, being by Mom’s side was the only place that truly mattered.

Rose Marie DiRoberto-Matuszny is from Tampa, though she has lived in Wisconsin, North Carolina, and Pennsylvania. She has Oneida American Indian heritage on her maternal side and grandparents from Italy on her paternal side. She embraces diversity and is passionate about equality in education. Rose Marie began her higher education through an elementary education Teacher Corps fellowship provided on the Menominee reservation in conjunction with the University of Wisconsin, then was awarded an American Indian fellowship to receive her masters of education degree in special education at Pennsylvania State University.