John P. Beavers
August 20, 1999

Some of us in the middle of life awake one day to realize that we have become the parent . . . to our parents. Rose Pomeroy's story of Mark's and her vacation across Canada with both their two children and Rose's parents reminds me of my final years with my parents. What I experienced is more likely experienced by daughters and, if more than one, most likely the youngest. I had no sisters, and my brother was deceased. So the experience of "parenting" my parents became mine.

Life is a series of relationships. When I was young, I thought that the nature of my relationship with my parents would never change. That our roles would remain for our respective lifetimes. My father was the provider. My mother the nurturer. Both of them, the care-givers. And I, the recipient.

But relationships are dynamic. Ever changing. Including the roles of parent and child. Except for one which has become increasingly significant to me only over the last several months of my mother's life: Only parents can be the givers of life. And because of this, I think the love of a parent (as the giver of life) for a child (as the creation) is the greatest human love.

Likewise, my relationship with my parents changed over time. My parents went from care-givers to care-receivers. Conversely, I went from care-receiver to care-giver. But the love of the parent for the child never diminished.

My relationship with my mother was unique. She allowed me to think for myself. Her role as a parent was a challenge to my thought process. So we argued about everything. "Like cats and dogs," my father used to say. Our arguments were always to test the convictions of our thoughts. However, there was always respect.

The nature of some of our arguments shows how our relationship and roles changed over the years. We could argue about the car: Initially about my driving; and later about hers. We could argue about the hours we kept: Initially, my teenage gallivants until early morning hours; and later about her inability as an octogenarian to fall asleep until those early morning hours. And we could really argue about politics: about, in my words, her more conservative, "dogmatic views" and my more liberal, "enlightened outlook."

Despite my "enlightened outlook," it never dawned on me that I would have to become the care-giver. I wasn't prepared for it when it happened. The relationship changed. The roles reversed: I became more of the parent, and she became more of the child. But one role never changed: She and Dad were my givers of life. I was their creation.

So it was especially meaningful toward the end when she asked that I help her life pass. Intervene, if I could, to let her go.

We didn't argue. I knew better than to test her conviction. It was what she wanted.

She was the giver of my life. In return, I help let hers pass away.

I really value the last 6 months we had together. The roles totally reversed. I was the parent. She was the child. I accepted her confusion, not arguing about what was fact or what was fantasy. Trying to nurture her to the end.

I will never forget her words in one of our last conversations. I was in tears, and she was back in control as a parent.

"You mustn't be sad. Oh no! You mustn't be sad. You need to remember your daughters. Love them for all that you can."

Despite the change of relationships, the love of a parent for a child is the greatest human love. The same is true when the roles are reversed.