Some days my ninety-year-old mother calls me and tells me how my ninety-year-old father, her husband of more than six decades, is doing. Sometimes I want to say, “Mercy, mom, he’s ninety,” and sometimes I do, but most times I just listen because there’s not much to say. Or do. But listen. There is no promise that we will age gracefully or that the aged will be gracious in their old age. Sometimes we and they do, but not very often if what I hear from others is accurate. Aging is hard but I’m not sure it is as hard as caring for the aging. Most of the time you aren’t sure you are caring well, even when your caring comes straight from a heart of love for your aging mom or dad. Mike Glenn’s story of his mom is a story of a woman gradually dying, of a son gradually grieving, of a life gradually ending, and of a pastor gradually letting go of an unforgettable life of an unforgettable mom. He learned what kind of son he was—a mighty fine one, if you ask me. This is a love story, a son for a mother. Mike, my friend, had to learn that he was okay with his caring for his mom. He was better than okay.
