This past summer I got a call from my brother. “Mom’s in the hospital. There was some bleeding and it looks like she’s going to need surgery … and probably some tests.”
A terrible year just got worse.
Of course, 2020 has been bad. Just like everyone, my wife and I had to adapt to life with COVID-19 looming over everything.
We had to isolate early in the pandemic because of a potential exposure to the virus. There were work-life changes and it was hard for us to get used to wearing masks in stores and places where more people were around.
But we had also been extremely fortunate. We stayed healthy and, more important, no one even in our extended family had contracted COVID. Meanwhile, up to that point, the number of infections through the spring and into the summer in the Twin Tiers remained relatively low compared to other parts of the country. Area businesses and restaurants were able to open and increase capacity. It was still far from “normal,” but we thought we could see some light.
Mom, living in West Virginia, was a survivor of cervical cancer. “There was some bleeding” meant there was concern over a recurrence. Surgery and a biopsy would tell more.
After the procedure, Mom was home alone. Her husband was in a Morgantown hospital after having an ill-timed accident with a lawn mower. I went down to check on her and immediately realized she was in an untenable situation with not nearly enough care and support.
We consulted with her primary care doctor in town and he arranged for her to be admitted to a medical rehab center so she could safely stabilize after the surgery. Then, she came to stay with us in Olean.
There were adjustments to make in the house, medical equipment to get and then a schedule of medical appointments to keep — not least three trips a week for dialysis. I had to quickly relearn some of the rudimentary kitchen skills I had once possessed to whip up breakfast and lunch suitable for Mom.
She was great — and truly grateful for the care — even if there was an episode or two in the weeks while she was with us that frustration at being parted from her husband and away from their beloved home space in West Virginia showed itself.
We had some of the beautiful, long talks that we had always shared over the years. Despite her physical
condition, Mom was sharp as ever mentally and we went at it for hours — on politics, on national and world events, on culture, on memories and on much in between.
Through it all, while I believe Mom understood her situation, she maintained a hope and optimism that she would be able to return home and, in her words, enjoy at least a few more years with Virgil in their gardens and at the kitchen window where the birds come to their feeder.
A discussion with an oncologist told me that was not to be. So when Virgil was himself home from the hospital, and Mom started acting out a little in what was clearly an effort to get back at his side, we arranged to have her go. She really wasn’t ready — she and Virgil were both going to continue to need care — but it was more important that she be home for the time that was left.
It was just a few weeks later that I got another call. Mom had suffered what appeared to be a stroke and was in the hospital at Morgantown. It was just a matter of time.
We were able to visit her in Bradford Manor. Swathed in protective gear, including goggles and face shield, I gently touched her arm, “Hi, Ma, it’s Jim.” She stirred and her eyes opened. I could tell she was confused about who I was. The nurse told me it was OK to remove the goggles.
I think she recognized me then. There was the barest hint of a smile and her face softened, then she drifted back into unconsciousness.
A few days later, Nancy D. Eckstrom, at 77 not so aged that there hadn’t been the hope for more living to do, passed away. For her family, it was a sad punctuation on this awful year, with a melancholy irony that it wasn’t the terrible virus that took her.
But in other ways I also look at 2020 as giving small gifts — gifts that might seem greater over time. We were able to say a long goodbye to Mom — one that in other circumstances we might not have had — and it was a mercy that, in the end, she didn’t suffer more.
The worst year for many in their lifetimes closes. Here’s hoping we all can point to a small gift or two that helped us get through it — and helps give us hope and optimism to look ahead to better days.
(Jim Eckstrom is editor of the Olean Times Herald, The Bradford Era and Bradford Publishing Co. His email is
