Fundraiser for Inna Arakelian
How to Sing Your Mom a Lullaby
Now, Mom's heart is beating fast. She is working so hard to keep breathing. Opening the eyes became too hard. She can't speak. It is only through minute movements that she shows me she can hear and understand what I say. And she can't swallow anymore. And she has a "do not resuscitate." Mom is getting ready to transition. I keep telling her I love her.
Mom lived a long life. A child who for years did not have enough to eat during the Great War, whose sibling ate chalk and chewed on anything, eating through the cloth, a child during the 2nd World War who hated the taste of pears for the rest of her life because she was so hungry, she and her sister would pick wild pears that were not ripe yet. A teenager whose family moved from one hungry town to another. A girl who finished high school with straight As. And went to college. And met my dad. People so often say "soulmate." I don't know what it is exactly that they put in this word. I grew with two parents who looked like ordinary good people, yet there was so much remarkable about them and at that time I never even knew, I thought everybody was like that. I never even suspected how truly exceptional my parents were, there was so much love around them and in them.
My mom, after 10 or so years with dad, grew so close to him that by the power of her love she could feel his thoughts. I am not exaggerating. Dad could not take it, he could not believe it, even after a quarter-century of marriage, in my childhood. Mom would often just start speaking a sentence and he would jump, saying "how can you do this? How did you know this? I thought this entire thought, in those exact words, with precisely that intonation, just now. How did you read my mind?" She did read his mind. Always showering dad and us with love. And this is how they lived until he died. And soon afterward mom had her stroke. And she became like a baby. And I had to step in to be her "mom." The roles reversed. It was my time to pay back.
And boy, did I have a lot to pay back for. I will never do enough. Without exaggeration. Besides being so loved by both of my parents, besides having a great example of compassion, honesty, generosity, the friendship that my parents always gave me, I owed my mom more, even more than I owed dad. The thing is that when she got pregnant with me, she was 37 years old. At that time, everyone thought she was making a big mistake, trying to have a baby this late. Everyone, including my aunt, my maternal grandma, even my dad, everyone was trying to persuade her to have an abortion. And she did not. She stood by me. She shielded me. She saved my life. She had me.
I will never be able to repay. And now I am cornered. We are all amidst COVID19. My salary at this job is 35 or 40% less than it used to be. I am having a hard time making ends meet. At the end of the month, particularly in December of last year, we all ate the same cheapest things, eggs, bananas, etc. Now it leveled out a little, but I don't have any savings. And I must bury mom. And I have no idea how to dig myself out after I pay the funeral home using a credit card. But, most importantly, the inexpensive cemetery at Saint Nina's Monastery in Maryland costs 2 or 3 times less than the ones closer to or in DC, but at the monastery, they take cash or check, you can't use credit. And I don't have enough. I barely have enough for the plot of land. I don't know how to pay the fee of $1200 for opening the ground, and then $1500 for burying the coffin. If we have to do it on a Saturday or a Sunday, there is a $400 additional fee.
She lived a very unremarkable life, just like everyone around. We are very ordinary people. My whole life I teach languages. She worked as a librarian. She retired from a low salary into a low pension. I don't have much salary and no job security.
I worked so hard to bring her here. Then, I worked hard to get her to stand up and walk after a stroke. She did try hard, too. She really wanted it. We have come a long way, after my mom had her stroke almost 14 years ago. Last July she had kidney failure and congestive heart failure. She was given a week to die. We were admitted to Halquist Memorial Hospice in Arlington. She stopped eating but would drink. I begged and pleaded. Several priests took turns. Several Fathers brought her communion almost every day. She was able to swallow it almost every time. And after 3 weeks of saying "it will happen within a week" the hospice doctor said, "it will likely happen within a month." In early September she returned home, to me. She stayed in bed but looked forward to her birthday in December. And then the hospice doctor and nurse told us "she is no longer considered in imminent danger of dying." Father Blagoje, Father Valery, Father Vladimir took turns for months. Not daily, once a week, but she had her communion. And then COVID came. And it was only Father Blagoje coming, but he came, no matter what. And she had her communion. And then came the day when she could swallow no more. And I knew we were getting close. Now you know pretty much the whole story.
We loved so many things, we loved the smell of the sea. To walk in parks or gardens. Mama loved flowers, and I gave them to her. Or took her to botanical gardens. Or both. Mama loved outings. I took her out when I could. Mama loved going back to her country, to visit dad's grave and to see a couple of friends she still had and the relatives. Mama loved me. I loved my mom. The best I could. I tried hard, often living with a sense of guilt because I was not giving enough attention either to her or to my two little boys.
My mother is a miracle. A miracle of love. A miracle of survival. A miracle of courage and perseverance. A miracle. In my life. Help me honor her and lay her to rest.
If it so happens that I would by a miracle of human warmth and kindness receive more than I need for the funeral expenses, I pledge to use all such money on helping others, at the hospice, at churches, to those in need.
May we all be blessed to have those who love us and accept us as we are. May there be more mothers like my mama. Inna. Inna Arakelyan is her name.
Now time to go sing my mama a lullaby.
Elena Arakelian