Devotion of a Conflicted Heart

My mother is a five-foot-six squat woman. She loves knitting stuff for her grandkids. She also loves going to church and fellowshipping with other believers. She loves to cook and always heaps a generous helping of pasta on my plate anytime she does.

Lately though she hasn’t really been herself. My mother suffers from dementia and the disease is ravaging her. Anyone familiar with the disease knows that it’s a downward spiral from diagnosis. Simple daily tasks become nearly impossible to do. My mother who used to be funny and vivacious gradually became weak. I saw her energy wane as her condition became worse. She used to be jive, convivial and a lot of fun. Even after my father’s death, she still maintained her good spirits.

Since her diagnosis, I’ve been my mom’s primary caregiver. It hasn’t been easy doing that. I had to reorganize my life around caring for her. I work as a software engineer and one of the perks of the job is being able to work from a remote location. That means I’m able to care for my mother while still being able to work. Sometimes, though, you just have to be on site. On such days, my mother is left on her own. But I do have to make sure that things are prepped for her convenience and hope that nothing goes wrong while I’m away.

I have one other sibling. Her name is Hells. I call her Hells. She’s a paediatrician. She’s nice and all but between us we sometimes have our issues as with most siblings. We used to fight virtually over everything from meals to control of the TV remote. Nothing was off limits. But then we grew became adults and kinda moved past such immature squabbling.

Lately, we’ve been having some friction between us. See, my sister wants Mother to be looked after in a care facility, which is the exact opposite of what I want for her. I couldn’t bear the thought of dumping Mother off in one of those facilities. It felt inhuman to me. She’d be there with no family to keep her company. I just couldn’t picture Mother in such a place. I also could not understand why Hells didn’t see it the way I did. I felt mine was the right and dignifying thing to do for Mother. Each time we talked about it, our conversation was fraught with tension. We just couldn’t seem to find a middle ground.

I remember a particular incident in which Hells came around and threw tantrums about the way mother was being looked after. She complained that I wasn’t qualified and lacked the experience to look after her. She said Mother would be better off in one of those care facilities. I tried to reason with her that I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving her there. I told her that I was okay looking after her. That I could manage it. That was the first time we bickered on the subject. Neither of us backed down. Mother, for her part, seemed not to notice the tension between her two children. She was seated in her favourite armchair in a corner of the living room, knitting away.

It hadn’t always been like this. We were one small happy family – at least most of the time. My dad was an accountant. He worked in one of those big accounting firms. Between him and my mother they made a decent living. They made sure my sister and I had a solid foundation in life by giving us a good education. For a while, things were okay but life isn’t a fairy tale. I lost my dad when I was sixteen just about to begin college. He’d struggled with ulcer since he was a kid and the sickness ultimately took his life. We were stunned and shocked at the same time. I couldn’t even remember reacting to the news other than feeling numb.

My mom, who’d just lost her knight in shining armour, was about to feel the pressure of being a single parent. Hells, who’s just a year older than me, was already in medical school and the cost of tuition was over the roof. And here I was about to add my own expenses to the growing bill. It was clear our expenditure was more than Mom’s income. She was a teacher and could barely get by with what she was making. But my mother made sure we never missed a meal. My sister and I were both able to go to college and graduate. It was no mean feat from my mother. She toiled day and night. She took on extra tasks in school. She even volunteered for any job that promised extra pay. She basically sucked it up and made lemonade from lemons. I was moved by her devotion and tenacity. It deepened my resolve to nurse and care for her. It was my way of saying thank you.

When I was younger, Hells and I used to play all sorts of games as kids. Hide and seek, police and thief, you name it and we were on it. Naturally, as we grew, we left those things behind. But my earliest memories of Hells were of her being a tomboy. I mean, she played ball with the boys like she was one of them. Plus, she could hold her own, too. Nobody dared pick on her. Sometimes I felt she was too tomboyish for her own good. I mean, didn’t she know she was a girl?!

I recall one incident that occurred in elementary school. A certain boy named John tried to bully her by unseating Hells from the swing during break. My sister just calmly came off the swing and lunged at the boy with a flurry of blows. It was over in a few seconds and the boy suffered a black eye where one of the blows had landed. After that, nobody dared to challenge her either in the school or in the neighbourhood. The word had spread.

I love my sister. Truly do. I love the fact that she’s a brilliant paediatrician. I also love her competitive spirit. She always wanted to win at every game we played. But sometimes she could be straight out obnoxious. I mean, whenever we had an argument or something, she always wanted to have the last word. She could dish as much as she could take. I dunno, she had this warrior spirit within her. Sometimes I think she still has that tomboy in her.

Hells is tall, like my dad, and her high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes round out a freckled oval face. She loves to wear skinny jeans and clothes from Gap. She listens to goth and heavy metal, and I never understood why she’d choose that over something that could be soothing and calm, at least given her line of work. She was also into sports, mostly football, though. I guess you could say her interests were wide and varied. I mean, while other girls were into makeup and being fashionistas, she was into supporting her favourite football club.

So on this day, I’m seated at my workstation trying to get some work done when my phone rings out. It’s Hells calling. “What’s up?” I said by way of greeting.

“Nothing much,” she replies. She then goes on to say that she’d arranged for Mother to be transferred to Advanced Care, a new and trendy care facility.

“I thought we were clear on this,” I said, rising from my chair. “I said I’m okay with taking care of Mom.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you looking after Mom doesn’t inspire confidence in me. You don’t seem to know what you’re doing. She needs professional care.”

“I don’t want to fight with you about this. I mean, I’m the one making the sacrifices here and I’m not complaining.”

She paused momentarily before saying, “Why are you being difficult?”

“And why are you being so obnoxious?” I fired back.

“Okay, you win. You can have your way for now but if I sense for one second that Mom isn’t getting proper care, then you can be certain we won’t be having this conversation again.”

“Don’t worry,” I said trying to reassure us both. “I got this.”

After she hung up, I got upset. I couldn’t concentrate on work again. So, I went to the kitchen and grabbed a beer. My head was churning with different thoughts. Did she think I would let Mother down? I mean, I’d assured her that I would do everything possible to ensure Mom was well taken care of. Guess my assurances weren’t enough.

Two days later, I received a visitor from Advanced Care. A man named Mr. Uche rambled about the benefits of admitting Mother in their facility “. . . we have a dedicated and capable staff well qualified to look after our elderly patients. Also, we have best in class —.”

“Whoa, wait. Patient?”

“Uh, what?”

“You said patient.”

“Y-yes, I did.”

“First of all, my mom isn’t a patient. She’s healthy and well looked after. Yes, she occasionally forgets where she places her keys and stuff but that happens even to the best of us.”

The man was flustered. He’d apparently committed a gaffe in my eyes.

“So, she’s not a patient. We won’t treat her as one,” he tried to recover. “She’ll be well taken care of —”

“Who gave you this address?” I blurted out suddenly. I was already losing my patience.

“Pardon me?”

“Who put you up to this?”

“Er, I’m sorry I can’t disclose that. It’s confidential.”

“You want my mother in your facility, right? And yet you can’t tell me who gave you a heads up.”

Mr. Uche bent his head for a minute contemplating the situation. He didn’t want to disclose his source for whatever reason. I couldn’t care less. My spider sense was going amok, telling me you-know-who.

“It’s against company policy.”

“You just tell me and it’s our little secret. You keeping quiet is a nonstarter for me.”

He nodded. I could tell he was rationalizing the situation.

“This stays between us,” he pleaded with an earnest look.

“Yeah. Sure,” I said rather blithely.

“A certain Mrs. Helen Cole called and she gave the address of this place. She said it was her mother who needed care. She did say I might run into some little resistance and that I needed to do some convincing.”

“Oh, I see,” I said reeling from what I’d just heard.

I knew Hells was behind this but hearing the man confirm it was another thing.

“I guess, it’s a family matter,” Mr. Uche continued, oblivious to my thought process, “but like I said before, your mother will be well looked after in our facility. You can rest assured about that.”

I smiled absently.

The rest of his pitch went as a blur because I was already thinking of discharging him and what to say to my sister.

At the door, he handed me a flyer advertising their services and we shook hands.

“Hey, remember that little confidential thing?” he said before leaving. “It has to be confidential.”

I joined my thumb and index finger together and performed a zipping action across my lips. “Sealed lips,” I said.

In a few days, my mother was clocking seventy. We were planning a simple celebration. Just a couple of close friends and family. While still caring for her, I compared notes with my sister, who was the chief planner of the event. Hells was good at organizing such things and even though I was still mad at her for sending over that man, I was impressed by her attention to detail. I knew she really cared about Mom; we just had different ideas going about it. Up until then, I’d planned to tender the matter before her but then I found myself dropping it not least because I didn’t want to further widen the rift that was growing between us.

But then, a few days before the party, Mom said that if caring for her was becoming a burden, she wouldn’t mind going to a care home. I asked her what prompted such a thought but she just smiled and tottered to her room. I suspected Hells had been whispering things in Mother’s ears. Or else why would she have said that? Up until now, she’d never said such a thing. Yet again, Hells’ actions had me upset, so I decided to take matters head-on with her.

So, on the day of the party, after a round of drinks with friends and family, I squared up with her. She’d been standing by the outdoor makeshift bar, tending to a flute of bubbly whilst engaging with guests. She brimmed with verve and energy and seemed to be having a good time. I walked up to her and excused her from the group. After acknowledging each other’s efforts on the success of the party, the subject moved on to the celebrant.

“I don’t seem to understand why this is an issue for you, Yele,” she said sarcastically. “I mean, it’s not like you’ll be dropping a dime for the cost.”

“I don’t appreciate you undermining my efforts. You actually sent that man to the house to make a pitch,” I said, bristling slightly.

“Look, I don’t want to talk about this right now. Can’t you see I’m having a good time?”

“We have to talk about this,” I said. “It’s contentious. We need to resolve it or at least come to terms.”

“The only terms I’m open to is Mother being properly looked after in a care home.”

“C’mon, Hells,” I said with exasperation, “you know how I feel about that.”

“This isn’t about you. So, drop the act.”

“What act?”

“This holier-than-thou act of yours. It’s getting on my nerves.”

I was getting pissed. “So now my attitude is giving you problems? That’s rich. All things considered you’re not a stellar human being yourself.”

“You’re ruining the party. Just like you ruin everything.”

“You know what, I don’t have the time for this,” I said, walking away, but it was typical of Hells to throw in one last word.

“You’re such a man child, Yele. Grow up!”

I sighed wearily, hoping that folks didn’t hear that. I wanted to throw a zinger of my own but I knew it was futile. The rift between us had just widened further. I wondered why we couldn’t agree on this issue. What would it take for either to back down? Hells was mostly chill as a person and we usually had each other’s backs.

Later, as the evening wore on and the sky glowed with streaks of amber from the setting sun, we gathered for photos. Hells smiled and cooed with her husband as they both took shots with Mother. I knew she wanted what was best for Mother but so did I. Her reasoning was sound and logical. Maybe Mother would be better off in a care home, I thought. As I joined the group in the front yard, my mind was churning over with thoughts of how to resolve this impasse.

Holier-than-thou?

I certainly didn’t come off as that. I mean, why would she even say such a thing? I recall one of my past love saying I do tend to take the moral high ground on most issues. I just go if it’s right, then I’m all in. Nothing wrong with that approach. But looking at Mother smile radiantly as she stood for pictures, I realized I would have to change my position where she was concerned.

A few days after the birthday event, I paid Hells a visit at her home. Hers was tastefully furnished and very minimalist. She lived in a three-bedroom apartment complex in Ikoyi and together with Victor, her husband, they made a decent living. Since I was passing through her neighbourhood, I decided to check in on her and at the same time, perhaps call a truce. It was more of an agreement on her terms. I’d been really thinking about her idea, and gradually it was gaining traction with me. Maybe I was being selfish in my desire to care for Mother myself. It was a hard thing to do but I had to swallow my pride and concede to Hells.

Hells was magnanimous enough not to gloat about it. I guess she sensed it wasn’t easy for me coming around to her view. But in the end, it was Mama’s welfare that mattered. Not my ego or pride.

“I know this is hard for you, but it’s what’s best – for Mom and even for you,” she said in a soothing voice.
Yeah, she was right about that one. Letting Mother go would be hard. It felt like a final goodbye. Even if we could visit, I still felt a pang of pain knowing I won’t be taking care of her. I’d grown used to making her herbal teas, doing her laundries and making sure she was comfy. It might have been a burden to some, but for me, I enjoyed doing those chores for her. It warmed my heart to see her crooked little smile light up her face.

“It’s what’s best,” I said, nodding reflectively.

Then she smirked and said, “You know I can still beat you in Pro Football.”

“That’s very cocky of you.”

“Yeah, cause I’m sure and have bragging rights.”

As she reached for the game console to set up the connection, I glimpsed Victor passing by to the kitchen carrying a bowl of fruit salad with a contented smile on his face. For a moment I want to forget about my agita and live in the present. I want to feel alive with my family and maybe even prove to Hells that I still got it when it came to playing fantasy football. So, with that I settled beside Hells and got ready to play.