by David Skolnik

Created on: July 18, 2011

I never really got to know my mother, like most sons should. There were no occasions to go to a park, take in a movie, or learning how to drive with mom at your side.

My mom, Miriam, was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis in 1965. I was just 11-years-old then. I felt as if I were cheated out of the pleasures of a mother-son relationship.

My early existence consisted of massaging her legs, pushing her in a wheelchair so she could see her mom, who lived a few blocks away, making sure she ate all her meals, going over the daily schedule with mom's nurse, calling my dad at work, to let him know everything was under control. The summer's were especially rough, because I only had a window of three hours to goof off, play with my friends, go swimming.

Mom's disease progressed rapidly, leaving her unable to walk, talk, use her upper body strength, and speak clearly in just 10 years. As a young man, I was frequently depressed. Who wants to see a parent whither away to nothing? I had a kid brother, but Michael  had his own routine and never really made a good caregiver when the nurse wasn't around.

My brother ended up getting married at 20-years-old, leaving me behind for four more years to hold down the fort. But that was my mom. How could I leave her?

I finally left the nest in 1978, moving to New Jersey from Brooklyn. I met a girl in 1978 who would become my wife in 1981. After we married, we visited mom and dad often, but it was never the same. Mom couldn't speak or eat without help. But I knew she was happy by us being there.

The end came for mom on May 15, 1995. My brother and I and our families visited her for the last time the night before. We told her not to worry, that everything was okay. I kissed her on the forehead, but had to hide my tears.

A year after her Edath, I was diagnosed with MS. As her adopted son, it was just a coincidence. Fortunately, I'm handling the disease much better than mom ever had.

A few weeks ago, on my 57th birthday, my son drove me to the cemetery so I could visit my mom and dad's gravestones. I said a tearful prayer over my mom's plot, thanking her for being my mom and that I was very proud of her.

Before we left, I told her that I would continue to fight this disease for both of us and that I would see her again.

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