The Woman in the Red T-Shirt: A Moment That Stopped Me Cold

As I look at this photo, I see Mom as she’s always been: vibrant, joyful, full of love. Sometimes I forget that the woman in this photo is still who Mom is, through and through. Her body may have aged, but her spirit hasn’t. She’s the same loving, youthful, determined soul, and I’m the same bright-eyed carrot top. Time has marked our bodies, but not who we are.

Last week, I returned to Mom’s house after being away for eight days. She was eager to show me how she’d prepped a room for a contractor’s arrival. Instead of lifting her up, I told her she had done too much, wasted her energy, and that the contractor would have done the work for her. I talked down to her.

My reasoning: Mom doesn’t have the energy to wash dishes and gets winded walking to the car. Yet, home by herself, she moved furniture and climbed a step stool several times.

As I spoke to her about doing more than she should, Mom’s smile vanished, her shoulders slumped, and she turned to leave. My heart sank when I realized what I’d done. I’d told the beautiful young lady in the red T-shirt that I knew her limits better than she did.

Over eleven years ago, Mom was told she may have only six months to live, at the very best two years. While the news of Mom’s cancer prognosis was the worst imaginable for my family, that prognosis has also been a gift. Mom said the things that mattered, took the opportunity to travel, and focused on being a best friend to her kids and grandkids. Because of this, we’ve all lived more fully and freely.

For years I’ve asked, “If you could do anything, what would it be?” Each time she answers with something like, “I’ve done everything I want to do,” or “Nothing. I’m happy.” Mom doesn’t want pity. She knows she has lived a full life. Mom has seen and done more than she’d dreamed of.

Mom’s body has changed, but her spirit? Still unstoppable. The woman in the red T-shirt still wants to go for walks, play catch with her grandkids, and tend to her yard. But these days her body whispers limits. She listens with reluctance and grace.

My frustration wasn’t really about Mom doing too much. I let worry cloud my judgment. What if she’d fallen with no one there to help her? I was afraid of her being in pain and suffering. I was afraid of losing her and I tried to control her. In doing so, I forgot who she is, the woman in the red T-shirt.

I love the way Mom lives and loves, her touch, her friendship, the way she often knows what I’m thinking before I do. With Mom, I feel completely held, no matter where we are or what we are doing. Mom has held me my entire life, even when we were apart. I hope to hold her too, in all ways.

Now, I’m doing my best to truly see her. I’m trying to listen more, soften more, and love her more when her spirit is stronger than her body. I want to learn from her love and grace, as she keeps walking her path the way she always has: with everything she’s got.

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