Supporting my mother as she grew older meant facing pride, minimization and resistance. The key to a healthier relationship was empathy
O
ne evening as I was using my key to let myself into my mother’s apartment for a visit, I glanced toward the kitchen table where she usually sat reading the newspaper and saw her rolling walker standing alone. Surprised, I said loudly: “Where are you, Mom?”
“Here,” I heard her respond from her bedroom down the hall. “I’m fine.”
On the floor next to her bed, I found her splayed out on her back. “Did you fall? Are you hurt?” I asked with rising panic.
