Unveiling the Quiet Strength: A Son's Tribute to His Unsung SUPER-HERO
Unveiling the Quiet Strength: A Son's Tribute to His Unsung SUPER-HERO Sitting here in the dimly lit room once again, I find myself observing his every movement in the soft glow of the television. Gradually, I'm beginning to decipher the patterns, his routines, those triggers that set him off, and that gentle relaxation in his forehead when he momentarily finds solace. Unaware of my presence, he starts to talk in his sleep. Struggling to decipher his mumbled words, I listen intently, hoping to catch a glimpse into his thoughts. It's only been 36 hours of continuous vigil, but in reality, I've been watching over him for decades.
The steady, quiet beep of the IV machine is beginning to grate on my nerves; it needs attention. Dad is struggling to find restful sleep. His mind navigates through the haze of vivid dreams induced by the unsettling combination of Parkinson's and anesthesia. His body twitches; within his dreams, he stands up for the innocent, lends a hand to those who've made simple mistakes, or chases down those who've caused harm.
Even in this state, his instinct to serve and safeguard others remains unwavering. His eyelids squeeze shut, and my gaze is drawn to a glistening tear making its way down his cheek. That expression of pain on his face is all too familiar. I've witnessed it more times than any son should see in his father. It's a tribute to those he couldn't shield and those who fell while under his protection. Placing my hand gently on his shoulder, I murmur, "You're alright, Dad; you're safe. I'll take over from here." A calmness washes over him, his body eases, and my phone buzzes with a new text from Mom.
Again? It feels like she's messaging me every 20 minutes; my annoyance spikes, and then it hits me. She's not the one causing my frustration. I need to work on myself and explore what's triggering my anger, so I reach out to my coach. If the man lying in the hospital bed before me is my hero, Mom is my SUPER-hero.
She's been through bilateral knee replacements, spinal fusion, battles with cancer, loss of cartilage in both shoulders, bunions, hearing impairment, arthritis, and a recent mini-stroke. Yet, her primary concern remains Dad's well-being. Despite all she's endured, her thoughts are consistently with others. Yeah, I'm a proud momma's boy, and I wear it as a badge of honor. For me, Mother's Day isn't confined to a single day in May; it's a sentiment that stretches across every single day of the year.
Oh, how I wish I possessed her strength. Not the kind that's defined by muscles, authority, or a lofty title. Hers is an enduring, unyielding inner strength – the ability to care, to persevere, to overcome, to endure, to face challenges head-on, to adapt, and to pivot. Her strength lies in her capacity to confront life's curveballs, shake them off, and keep thriving. I strive, with the help of my coaches, to cultivate a strength that rivals hers. It's a goal I pursue fervently.
Last week, I recorded a video as I accompanied Dad for his cancer surgery. As they embraced and exchanged a kiss, it struck me. They've been doing this for nearly 62 years, and certain things haven't changed. The love radiating from their eyes and smiles, the laughter punctuated by "I love you," the affectionate nicknames, and the playful banter understood only by lovers. When Dad turned to leave, I glimpsed something on Mom's face that I dreaded seeing – fear. I can barely fathom what it was like to carry that fear every day, each time he left for work.
Today, it was the fear of losing him during surgery. At 83, with his health complexities, there's room for concern. In the past, it was the weight of his bulletproof vest under his uniform. And even though she took pride in his noble work, there were moments when things went awry, and someone didn't return home. Even after Dad retired, any late-night call to the landline would drain the color from her face. So, I disposed of that darn thing and got them cell phones. Now, it's whatever ringtone she prefers; no more jarring house phone rings.
I also recollect that I never witnessed fear on her face until Dad turned away. She wielded the strength to shield him from it, the resilience to endure it privately. She refused to let him see it, the sheer power it took to bear that burden alone. She never wanted him to carry the weight of worry for her while he was at work or undergoing surgery. My Mom is my SUPER-hero, and she's a significant driving force behind my commitment to shoulder the world's challenges to assist others. Because one day, I aspire to possess a strength akin to hers.
This theme resonates consistently with the veterans, law enforcement personnel, first responders, and healthcare workers I work with as clients or encounter while speaking. They pour their energy into serving and safeguarding others, often overlooking the strength and support awaiting them at home. Our strengths manifest in various ways. There's no hierarchy among them, but when we share and rely on each other's strengths, we're akin to my Mom – unstoppable.
Happy Mother's Day, Mom.
