I’ve been thwarted at every turn that I’ve tried to take this past year. My life as I knew it has stalled and I’m feeling it in my body. My legs from the knee downward feels stiff, achy, as though my circulation has been stymied. The emotional feelings of being frustrated has manifested in my legs, tightened my throat and chest.

When I was young around 5 or 6, I thought to myself that if my mom ever died, I would want to die with her. My whole identity was wrapped with hers. I couldn’t imagine what life would be without her. Like most children, I also thought she would live forever.

Now that I’m an adult and caring for her, I have some resentment that she didn’t have surgery earlier which would have given her a better prognosis to recover her former mobility and regain more independence. She always spoke so highly of herself, that she had the courage and the strength of mind to make a decisive and quick decision to leave everything behind, her homeland, her family, everything she knew and loved to come to America for a better life. At 81, she was so vital and active until her fall. After the fall, she was scared to have the surgery, dwelling, dwelling on the same questions, seeking different answers. Now, three months out, the doctor’s prognosis for her surgery was less ambitious, primarily for stabilizing and preventing any further decline or serious injury. When I heard my mom’s iterations of the same questions, I was so irritated. She was wasting everyone’s time, and dashing my hopes that she would recover enough to live independently. I was disheartened, embarrassed, irritated that I was once again witness to the same indecision.

I vowed to myself that in my later years, I will have the strength of mind and courage to do what I could to be less of a burden to my loved ones who would be taking care of me and to live an independent life full of value and meaning.

I would remember that my decisions would not only affect my life but those who were caring for me. I would remember that should I choose to not do all I could to be independent then my family should not be the ones who would carry the burden. I would not let them suffer.

Later, I study my mom’s face when she seems lost in thought. Without her dentures, she seems like a wizened old lady, sitting slightly hunched, her mouth slightly sunken, her white hair growing in like a crown. I can imagine her thinking the futility and value of life, wondering if there is more than what is in front of her. She’s in constant pain. Will I be any different? When I’m in a body that no longer functions the way I want it to, will I remember these intentions made so resolutely decades before?