Friday was a bad day.

It was Rose's 86th birthday. Last year for her 85th, people from all across the country flew into Tucson to surprise her and celebrate.

This year, she spent her 86th in agonizing pain that is worsening 2 weeks after falling. The morning was an MRI, traumatic and painful in having to lay still.  The afternoon was spent waiting as the doctor's office did their best to cajole the insurance company into getting her into a rehab facility quickly.

The truth is I can no longer care for her.  It's been 2 weeks. I’ve been staying at her house, running home to take care of my dog, running back to Rose’s house, running to the market for her errands, running ragged. She sleeps for a maximum of 2 hours before needing to get up to the bathroom, which means that in 2 weeks, I have had less sleep than when I had my baby almost 25 years ago.

And bottom line, I have no clue what I'm doing.

4:30 call from the doctor's office. No luck. Rose will be staying home this weekend, hopefully getting into a facility on Monday.  "The doctor recommends you call Catalina In-Home Services. They can take care of Rose this weekend."

I am devastated. I know nothing about in-home care. I am exhausted and overwhelmed and not in any state to tackle one more critical life-or-death thing I don't know how to do.

I call. On the phone, the woman I talk with is reassuring, kind, competent. A nurse will be calling to get Rose's medical history, and then a caregiver will arrive. The thought that I may get a real night's sleep tonight is the only thing that keeps me going.

After the day Rose has had, though, she is scared and doesn't want me to leave. "I'll be ok with a stranger in the house tomorrow. But please stay tonight."

And with those words, I am no longer present. I am holed up inside the walls we all build for ourselves when we are physically and emotionally drained, when there is nothing left, and yet when we still have to be strong for someone else.

It is 8pm when the phone rings - the nurse, no doubt, in preparation for what will now be tomorrow's caregiver.

"This is Hildy," I say, answering my mom's phone.

"Hildy, It's Judy Clinco."

Judy founded and runs Tucson's Direct Caregiver Association - an organization dedicated to ensuring there are trained professionals to provide care for seniors in our community.  Judy has participated in perhaps every local workshop Dimitri and I have done over the years, and she publicly credits the success of her organization to the work we have done.  At our last workshop, she brought her whole board, telling us, "We are now at 1,000 trained caregivers, and it's thanks to you."

I am startled that Judy would have learned of what is going on in my life.  "Judy, it is such a gift to hear your voice."

"Well let's see what we can do for your mom, and for you.  I'll be there at 9am tomorrow morning, and we'll figure it all out."

"Oh that would be wonderful. But Judy, I'm confused. How did you know? Did the care-giver company call you?"

"Oh I own the care-giver company. Started it years ago when there was no care for my own mom."

And then the words that made the whole day melt, made my spine rest, and made me know that I could get through one more sleepless night and be ok.

           

"I saw your name on the list, and said, 'Hildy? Hildy has helped us so much. I can help her.' "

Rose is getting care this weekend - great, attentive care.  I am getting sleep. More than that, I am paying homage to the truth that is karma.

We create the future for ourselves, for our loved ones, for our world - in ways we never know. What we put out there is what we get back.  The wheel of cause and effect is all there is.

And with that, finally, I can breathe.