The Tenth Mile

I try often to thank my husband, Kevin, for the hundred ways he helps my 94-year-old mom. Mom suffers from hearing loss, macular degeneration and Alzheimer’s.

Due to my work schedule, Kev has chauffeured Mom to most of her doctors’ appointments over the last seven years. At first, he stuffed her walker into the back seat and did his best to convince her not to leave the car before he got the walker out. Now he wrestles with a heavy, unwilling-to-fold wheelchair. When Mom—a former accountant—lost the ability to balance a checkbook, Kev took over her finances. And when she won’t listen to me (I’m just her daughter), my kind husband convinces her to fasten her seat belt or drink more water.

But recently, when Mom landed in the hospital after a fainting spell, Kev went the tenth mile. Although I was the only one allowed in the room with her, Kev sat most of the day in the car, waiting for my text updates. When all the medical tests came back inconclusive and we drove Mom home at 10:00 p.m., Kevin’s only complaint was the lack of restaurants open that late.

Although I’ve sometimes felt guilty that Kev does “my” job of caring for Mom, I know he’s showing his love to me by loving her.