My Mother’s Angels

It wasn’t until the age of 82 that mom needed full time help at home. Although she was surrounded by a loving family, this kind of dedication needed someone ever so committed and willing to dig into a heart of gold. We got lucky that she (and us) eventually embraced the idea.

The first time we looked for in-home care givers was a daunting task. How do you trust a small business in the business of home care, how do you entrust your loved one with someone you have never known, and how do you let this person live in your home? It wasn’t long before we realized the business was small enough to be personal, the caregivers quickly ‘fit’ into the family, and mom literally needed them close at hand, on her bed.

When we started, it was a husband-wife partnership – both nurses in the past and now in the business of doling out nurses and caregivers to patients’ homes. Exactly what the doctor ordered! Somewhat like an IT outsourcing company, the caregivers were all kind-of-trained, ready to go. Bench time was in-waiting at a hostel in Bengaluru. Between rotations and during break times en route to their homes, they returned to the hostel where they had a place to stretch, eat a good meal and exchange notes.

For the family, it was a draw of luck. We waited eagerly to see who was assigned to us. Accompanied by Ms.Owner in an auto or a Mr.Owner on a motorbike, the young woman always came with just one backpack or carry on handbag. The entrance was never dramatic, very tentative, a hesitant smile and ‘not-sure-about-this-family’ look. We were very eager, expectant and although very welcoming, had the ‘not-sure-she-is-the-one’ look.

This charade has continued for the past 4 years with a whopping 90% match rate, because change happens. There’s a personal health or family emergency, a wedding, festivals back home, COVID and then plain old exhaustion and the need for a break.

Shanthamma was an outlier – the only 50+ old friend and caregiver bundled together. Her hearty laughs totally defied her life as a young widow (losing her husband in an accident) and a single mother who worked as a maid to raise her son. No sir, thank you. She was proud of her independence. Those hidden tears made an occasional appearance when she felt a tinge of sadness.

All the others were 20+, not a day older than 24.  There were the two COVID nurses, who came in full PPE gear for the entire 12 hours with nary a bathroom or meal break. My mom was assured all is well by the laughs she heard through the gear. She got to see their faces just before the goodbyes.

Then there were the petite ones, the tall ones, the shy ones, the confident ones, the quiet ones, the chirpy ones, the gigglers, and the cool-as-cucumbers. It was a blessing that they spoke at least one language that mom knew – Kannada or Tamil or Hindi and enough English to read the drug labels.

My brother’s family where mom lives quickly embraced them. Most were younger than my daughter  and I felt very protective of them. I quietly stole conversations with them when mom was asleep. Unsolicited, in the eyes of city-bred youth, these young women loved problem-solving their issues with me. They got advice on aches and pains, exercise, meditation, education in the future, education on the side, marriage, independence and most importantly woman power.

One of them was musically inclined and made mom a proud teacher. Another dabbled in cross-stitch with mom’s guidance. If one had an abusive father, another was orphaned at 2. A third dreamt of being in the military and a fourth had to stop with high school because where she came from, only boys went to college. A fifth was just glad her arthritis flare up waited three months. They all came equipped with mobile phones, and many were very app and WiFi savvy. The phone was a family-channel, a caregivers’ network, a personal TV, a mind-distractor, or a simple dream catcher. They all eventually excelled in pushing and tucking, spreading and collapsing the numerous visitors mom had, before the smile, the flash and the click – our own in-home photographers.

Mom’s health fluctuated from good, to bad to ugly and back again especially during the past year – multiple falls that needed a lot of help physically and mentally. Some days we her children, are exhausted, both physically and mentally. I baffled at what kept the young women energized and caring. Sharing, giving, laughing, helping at home, nurturing, and guiding, I worry about their mental and physical health. What I wondered, brought someone so young to work, day and night with someone who needed to be cared for at bedtime, bath time, mealtimes and free times – all while adjusting to new homes, people and emotions?

Renuka, Rukuma, Yamuna, Sunita, Jyothi, Amudha, Usha, Chaitra, Akshata – all came from farming families from a small town or village in interior Karnataka or Tamil Nadu. They had never seen a big city like Bengaluru. They spoke longingly of childhoods spent amongst extended families, celebrating festivals together, and had fond memories of village fairs and harvests. They found joy in browsing photos of siblings or cousins at weddings. There was a twinkle in their eyes as they shyly watched Bollywood movies and dances. I wondered if they were longing for the stability in wedded life, the connections they saw at the various homes and the caring and love they felt in couples they came across.

I was right, but not exactly. This job was a stop gap arrangement, so one could hold off on the wedding bliss for a few years. Back home you were married off at 18. This was a blessing that gave an imagined freedom for a few years. I am proud of the young ladies for daring to be different, within their capacity.  I am sure the couple of years outside has given them the power to navigate the world with a renewed sense of confidence. I dream of a day when I can be there to nurture their dreams. Mom is glad and so are we that they made an appearance in our lives. I salute them – My Mother’s Angels.