I was in my early 50s when my mom passed.
I was her caretaker for many years, She lived independently in a high-rise senior living complex. When she had cataract surgery, she had in her mind that she "wanted to be independent", and she refused to come and live with me post surgery...she insisted that she could manage her post-surgery eye drops herself.
I got a phone call from her one day and she was crying. She told me she kept missing her eyes with the drops that she needed to take. I was not in a position to go and live with her at the time, so for 3 weeks, I made a 20 mile round trip to her apartment to instill her eye drops. 3 trips per day for 3 weeks. I loved doing this for her. I would have stayed at her apartment during that time, but I had some projects going on.
I asked my siblings for help...asked them to come and stay with her. They flat out refused. They were too busy with their vacations and cruises.
Years prior to this, I was offered a very lucrative position half-way across the country. I turned down the position and was eventually down-sized out of my great career because I refused to relocate for the new position. I knew in my heart that my mom, who was getting on in years, would need me.
My siblings lived out of town and didn't bother with her at all. They travelled into town once a year to visit her. I asked them for help in taking care of my mom. Their response was "it's your responsibility, you are the one who made the decision to stay and take care of her, and we have our own lives now." OK, no problem, I did what I had to do, and what I wanted to do. My belief was that I would not be here if it were not for my mom. I was eleven when my dad died. My mom was 51. My siblings had already taken off out of town before my dad died. She was tasked with keeping me safe during my teen years.
I was a hell-raiser as an early teen. I worked my ass off because we needed the money. I hustled like a motherfucker. I worked under the table construction jobs that were dangerous for a young kid. I took care of my mother, and she took care of me the best she could. I fell into a bad crowd. I was bullied and always stood up for myself physically. I learned how to fight. But I never got arrested, which was a goddamn miracle considering the shit I used to get up to. I always had in the back of my mind that I needed to keep my ass out of jail or reform school because I need to take care of my mom. I have so many stories...but I managed to stay out of jail and to take care of and help support my mom. It was me and her. That was my life.
I fell in love with a wonderful girl before I was even a teen. My mom loved her. We were an item for many years, until college. My first love.
Through all my teen angst, and being in love with my girlfriend, I still managed to make my mom a priority.
She made sure I survived without a dad. So my reasoning was...if she did this for me, then it's my turn to take care of her as she aged.
My mom fell in her apartment. She had one of those life alert alarms on a necklace around her neck, but she was a stubborn old Italian woman who refused to push that fucking button after she fell because she was embarrassed. I got a call from the building superintendent that she was found on the floor and was taken by ambulance to the hospital. I rushed to the hospital. She was a tough woman, and she was all smiles when I got there. "I'm fine! I'm fine". I admonished her and said "you should have pushed the fucking button around your neck, what the hell is the matter with you"? She just kind of waved me off, like it was nothing.
I went to her apartment while she was in the hospital. I was checking out her pill box. I saw some pills on the floor. She had a hutch in the dining room. I pulled the hutch away from the wall. There were no less than 200 pills on the floor, under the hutch, that she had dropped over a period of time, and that she never bothered to retrieve. It was then I knew...she had to go into a nursing home.
I arranged for this to happen. I knew an administrator at the home I wanted her to go to. I called her, and she set everything up. She dealt with the hospital social worker and everything. All I had to do was to tell my mom that she wasn't going home, but instead, she was going to a nursing home when she got out of the hospital.
I couldn't tell her. I called two of my siblings and asked them to tell her. To come home and tell her. They refused.
I stood outside her hospital room with my back against the wall, sobbing. I couldn't tell her. A nurse came by and asked me if i was alright. I said "I'm trying to get my shit together to tell my mom that she has to go into a nursing home". She asked me if I would like her to go into the room with me. I told her I would go alone. I felt like a fucking jerk...I couldn't stop crying.
I composed myself and went in and told her. Her reaction? "OK, that sounds like a good idea". All that angst, and she took it like a champ.
I think she was in the home for about 6 years. i visited her several times a week.
She got really sick in the home and it was apparent she was dying. My mom wanted her body donated to a teaching hospital for research, and I honored her wishes. I have a friend who is a mortician. I called him a few days before she died, and told him I would be asking him to transport my mother's body to the university after she passed. he said "whatever you need, don't worry".
Two days later, I was sleeping in bed with my wife. It was 1AM. The landline rang. My wife jumped out of bed to answer it. She came back into the bedroom and said "Lucky...". I said "I know" and we went to the nursing come so I could view my mom's body. I had one of those Nokia brick phones. I called my friend the mortician, and stepped outside for a smoke. I asked my wife to stay inside the nursing home. I just stood outside looking up at the stars.
I stuck a cigarette in my mouth and the next thing I know, someone hugged me from behind with one arm, and stuck a Bic lighter in my face with the other arm. I didn't even know who it was. I didn't even turn around. The person flicked the lighter and held the flame to my cigarette. I sucked on the cigarette and the person behind me said "The Yankees won tonight". It was my friend the mortician. I looked at him and said "I don't give a fuck about the Yankees", and we both started laughing.
He had a stretcher. I went to get in the elevator with him, and he would not let me ride up to my mom's room with the stretcher. I'm still not sure why. he just said "I don't want you to ride up with me. Take the other elevator". So I did and met him up in her room.
I was standing over my mom, looking down on her. I felt like an infant. I wanted to crawl inside of her. Surreal.
My friend said "One hell of a good woman. A lot of memories from when we were young, Lucky". He said "I'll take care of her". I patted my mom's hand, and left.
My wife called one of my siblings, I called the other one and was spoken to harshly because I was the bearer of bad news. I hung up and rolled my eyes.
My siblings never spoke to me again, save for a couple of times to essentially berate me.
I have two thoughts concerning all of this:
1) People leave you when you are at your weakest. They just...fucking desert you. How do your siblings, or anyone you are close to, just leave when you did nothing to them? Are we just here to appease others until you are of no use to them? Cherish those who show their love via actions, because words eventually fail, and may likely be lies. My siblings used to say I was a saint while my mom was alive. Everything changed when she died. I was of no use to them anymore as a conduit for their fake concern for my mom. Cherish those close to you who speak with their actions. One more time...cherish those close to you who speak with their actions...the rest is just worthless words.
2) My mom had serious pain that she lived with for many years. I'm telling you...when I say my mom was tough...she was TOUGH...old school tough. But she would cry, and tell me she wanted to die. She couldn't get any relief from the pain. I would say "Never talk like that mom. You have but one life, embrace the pain". Like a fucking idiot...I would tell her to embrace the pain. Like a fucking jerk. I didn't understand. Now I understand, because I now have the same condition she had...I understand now.
And that's my biggest regret..."embrace the pain mom". Fuck me...what a terrible thing to say. I just didn't understand. I was trying to make her feel better.
And I was in my 50s. It's amazing the wisdom you gain in just a few short years. I'm late 60s now, and I understand.
I understand.
Thanks for reading.
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Last edited Tue Dec 9, 2025, 12:02 PM - Edit history (2)
to read your stories, a serious honor 
You did everything in your power to make sure that your wonderful Italian mother was taken care of the way she deserved to be taken care of.
I've had some two different types physical pain in my life that was absolutely disregarded by other people, but these were people who didn't care.
Then there's those of us who actually do care but we don't know what our loved ones are going through or how to comfort them.
I'm sorry that you're now the one in physical pain and I hope that it's treatable or at least manageable.
Fact is you were lucky to have each other,
I do hope you find some comfort in the memories and that your physical pain eases as well.
you are close to, just leave when you did nothing to them?”
When I was dying, my family, friends and society abandoned me and my son. No wonder he turned to drugs. I was a sick mess. Still sick, not as bad of a mess.
You're a good son and a real man Lucky. I honor the goodness of you.
You are a great son & I'm sure if you could ask your mom, she would tell you that you telling her to "embrace the pain" was exactly what she needed to hear.
You did the very best for your mom with what you had to work with at the time.
As someone above so aptly stated, we should all be so lucky to have a son or daughter like you.
May your happy memories of your mom fill your heart.
working full time.
I must tell you that you write very well! Making a difficult subject an easier read is really a talent.
God bless our Moms and everyone on DU.
Because I like hugs.
I'm squeezing you tight right now and you're saying, "That's not my back, Solly".
It is, but you're funny that way.
''Healing means looking at every broken piece, examining its parts, and lovingly accepting it and putting it in its place.''
Your wounds and healing are part of your history—a part of who you are. No matter what breaks you’ve experienced, your journey is beautiful. We don’t celebrate that you were abused, but we absolutely celebrate the wonderful person you are and will continue to become as you create your real-life version of kintsugi.
Kintsugi, meaning "golden joinery," is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the fractured pieces with lacquer mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum, highlighting the breaks as part of the object's history rather than hiding them, embodying the philosophy of finding beauty in imperfection and resilience.
