Father to My Mother

I have tried not to post too many personal things here, as I am trying to keep this blog general, but I know that I must write the following.
My mother is in the hospital, having had a heart attack, and she continues to have something abnormal with her heart. The doctors are going to be running an angiogram today, and possibly an angioplasty. Hopefully, nothing more drastic will be needed.
Yesterday, I visited her (she is 2 and 1/2 hours away, and with weekend Masses, it was difficult to get there earlier). I took my anointing kit in to the hospital, just in case. But I was hesitant because this was my mother. I have received so much from her: my faith, my life, and the ability to know, receive, and give love. But I could not bring myself to ask her if I could anoint her. (In the course of the conversation, however, it was revealed that the priest chaplain had been there to anoint her.) I hate to admit, but I was relieved. At the end of our visit, she asked for a prayer and a blessing, which I gave. But I struggled to find the words, to choke back the emotions, and to do my priestly duty.
As I priest, I have visited many hospital rooms, anointed countless people, given many blessings. In none have I struggled so much as I did last night. After prayer and reflection, letting the experience stir in my heart, I still do not have a full answer, but in part, it was a struggle because now the roles were reversed: I was to be her spiritual father, to bring her to the our heavenly Father and beg for her. This woman, again, gave me everything, and now I was asked to give back. It was not out of selfishness, but out of the recognition of her vulnerabilities, and my own. Certainly, I was willing to give back, but in doing so, I had to admit something that I perhaps did not realize. I do not recall having a "hero complex" with my father, but I know that I have had one (and possibly still do) with my mother. As she asked for the prayer and blessing, I had to let that go.