Out Like a Lion
It's been a challenging winter, as most of you have seen from earlier posts on my blog. Those who are my friends on Facebook have seen my mother's cancer situation played out in real-time. As I write this, I'm sitting at Taylor House Hospice in Des Moines by Mom's bedside. Every breath is an accomplishment, a fight, a competition against death itself. There is no going "gentle into that good night" for this woman.
I mentioned to somebody recently that I'd put my professional life on hold for the past five months to be there for her, but in retrospect, that's not true at all. Mom has been my client. I've been forced to use all of my project management, office politics, creativity, and systems thinking skills on her and her needs. We've taken care of funeral arrangements, transitioned among levels of care, fired an obnoxiously pompous oncologist, balanced pharmaceuticals, communicated among relatives and friends. All of the same skills I've used in the past I've just retooled.
No client has been more pressing, more rewarding, more emotionally draining, or more invested. This is a project I'll take to my dying day. Mom has spent her entire life accomplishing things. She has earned "Well done, good and faithful servant" many times over. Sitting by her bedside, monitoring every breath, wondering which one is her last... it's an honor, a privilege. I've been able to watch her strength firsthand.
I'll transition back to "more traditional" clients soon enough. In the wee hours of the morning, I'm thinking of how I watched March go out like a lion. Mom's life helped shape me into who I am. For now, I'll stay focused on the positives. I'll miss her, but she will always be here... in what I do, what I say, and what I accomplish. Carpe Factum, Mom. I love you.