I am the firstborn child of a firstborn child, and though never formally acknowledged or discussed, I have been groomed for a specific role my entire life.
That sentence sounds very grandiose, doesn’t it? However, the reality is much more pragmatic and even mundane. My mother is and always has been a force to be reckoned with. Mom set the bar very high, first in her family of origin and then in our nuclear family, professionally (first as a Nurse and then as a Nurse Practitioner), socially, and morally for her circle of influence.
I watched as Mom planned “small gatherings” that might include 5 or 105 people. She answered the phone in the middle of the night and offered comfort and guidance or even correction. Family and friends naturally gravitated toward her and sought her input. She could settle disputes or head off problems before they started with just one look. She usually planned at least 20 steps in advance, so when the time for action came, she was already in motion. We never noticed how much we all depended on her proactive planning. She has had many titles: daughter, wife, mom, aunt, friend, nurse, employee, and even employer. Regardless of her title, she was the glue that held everything together. I had never considered there would eventually be a successor in her role of Family Matriarch.
In planning for a successor, Mom has been twenty steps ahead as well, and I never noticed it. The role preparation began as a child when I learned to be responsible and take responsibility for others. I was “allowed” and encouraged to help the adults and care first for my siblings, and then as a helper in the church nursery. When I was in third grade, I attended my first CPR class with adults and learned the skill set. Mom’s reasoning was, “You never know, what if one of your friends got hurt on the playground?”
After school jobs that taught me the value of being on time, completing a task, being self-directed, looking for ways to go the extra mile were ways for me to explore where my talents lay. I learned to build and use different skill sets. And then, Mom modeled how to use every skill in my arsenal to lead, to help, and to support others. As a young adult, I remember feeling so proud and so “grown-up” the first time Mom suggested the extended family celebrate Christmas at my house. Because I spent my entire life watching and learning, I never realized that planning a budget and menu, shopping, and then preparing a sit-down meal for 35 was a monumental task. But, of course, we had set the date and sent out invitations in September- that 20 steps in advance thing.
Slowly, with my siblings and younger cousins, I became the step in-between;
“Carla did your mom say when…”
“What does Aunt Pat think about...”
“If we schedule this, do you think Mom would be okay with…?”
Ever so organically and ever so slowly, the succession began. But, none of us noticed.
In 2015, when my Father began his last battle with cancer, my Mom began to include me in the medical decisions. She began to trust me to stay at the hospital with Dad so she could go home and rest or get a shower. At the time, I probably could not have verbalized it, but now I know just how big of a step that was for her.
I became a support to her and my Dad. I began to take on some tasks to give her some relief and time for rest since she was basically by my Father’s side 24 hours a day for those last two years. We didn’t discuss it or have a meeting about what needed to be done, I just began to step into some of the family roles she had filled.
Looking back, the day my Father died was pivotal. I picked up the phone to call family and friends. I fielded phone calls from the church groups who wanted to provide meals for the family and then set up a schedule to deliver meals for my mom for the first month. When making decisions, all eyes turned to me for guidance. A gentle and pervasive feeling of, “don’t bother Pat with that; let’s ask Carla” took root. At the time, none of us (especially not me), noticed.
This week, however, I realized that a line of succession event had occurred. We have an extended family member in the hospital. I was the first one called. I was the one who had to break the news to my mother. I called my siblings and all the cousins. I was asked to interpret the medical jargon of the Providers.
“What does he mean when he says….?”
“Should I ask about….?
I listened to myself asking “Honey, did you find her checkbook? Are you a signer on the account? Who has a copy of the medical power of attorney? Did you go by her house and feed her cat?” Even though I am the younger cousin, I heard myself uttering things like:
“Did you eat supper?”
“ When was the last time you slept?”
“Call me when the lab work comes back. Ask if they plan to perform other tests.”
My mother lived and embodied the role of Family Matriarch with excellence. I’m pretty sure we will never know the full extent of her far-reaching influence on not just our family, but our community as well. Now, all eyes turn to me.
How did that happen?
Shouldn’t there have been a ceremony? A formal handing over of the role?
Is there a superhero cape that goes with the job description?
Do I need a certificate to show I have completed the necessary formal training for the position of Family Matriarch?
The transition was so low-key, so seamless, so organic none of us even noticed it occurred. I guess it is one more example of my Mom planning twenty steps in advance.
Can you relate? Let Carla know……..
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