An Always Changing Life

Mom stands pleading, clutching my hands, eyes boring into mine. She insists, "I'm going with you. I belong with my family!"  "This is your new room, Mom. Isn't it pretty?" I ask. As she belligerently turns her back  to me, I sneak away.  Out the door and to the car. I bury my head in my husband's shoulder.  This is not how Longs say good bye.*  I cry.

YESTERDAY

It's been one month today since Daddy died. One month since Mom's world changed--and mine. Did we really say "good-bye"? Where's the "good" in any of it?   It's time to move forward, to an Always Changing Life.

Hours turn into days, and  days to weeks. Mom's needs change. So do mine. With Daddy no longer by her side, Mom becomes even more lost, more confused. She's a needy little girl, in a very old body. I explore options. How do I clone myself? What should I do? How can I manage her needs, and mine? I second guess myself, not just once, but many times. What to do? I get advice.... thoughtful, caring advice, some invited, some not. One person suggests this, and another that. Ultimately it's my decision, colored by my  family's wants and needs. I want to run. But I can't. Mom's following. She's watching every move.

I make phone calls. I hurry from place to place. Assisted Living. Adult Foster Care, Nursing Home. I ask questions. I listen. I watch. How do I decide? Will an Unknown  really care? Will an Unknown treat her gently? Will an Unknown be patient? Will an Unknown be kind?  And the elephant in the closet.....how much will it cost? How will we pay for it?

Someone tells me about someone who knows someone. I call. A soft voice  with a delightful Romanian accent answers. Veronica. She invites us to visit. I curl Mom's hair because she likes it fixed "just so" and we leave for Portland.  We meet Veronica, a lovely woman with an Adult Foster Care Home. Like me, she has a family, including husband, adult children, and teenagers. She's licensed to have two residents, and right now she has only one.

I've heard it said that Ahlzheimer's Disease is the long good bye. Although I understand the intent of the expression, I don't see anything good about it. It's a tragic disease, a tragic loss. It may showcase the  goodness in the humanity of others, as with Veronica in her caring of my vulnerable Mother. But it is not  a "good" bye. It's long and sad, bad and horrible. It's not the way it's supposed to be. My psyche rages at its destruction of my mother's identity.

Mom's on her best behavior. She charms her way into Veronica's heart. I feel it. She politely thanks Veronica for letting us visit in her "beautiful home." She comments about the pretty China in the hutch. She smiles at Veronica's kind words.

Veronica asks questions. I answer.  I try to be forthcoming about Mom's behavior. Full disclosure. Mom hides bananas in her dresser drawer. Mom doesn't like showers. Mom wakes up early---too early!  Mom wants to go to church every day. Mom opens doors and closets and rearranges other people's belongings. Mom's afraid of riding in the car, but she likes to sit in my parked car. She argues. She wants to wear the same clothes every day--black pants and pink top. She forgets names and faces and relationships and what happened 5 minutes ago. But I tell Veronica Mom is happy and pleasant. She likes to help. She likes to fold towels. She wants to "be good." She likes beauty and kindness and love. She likes bedtime prayer and to be tucked in at night.

Veronica invites us to see The Room. We walk down the hall. It's a small, cheerful room. Veronica asks Mom if she'd like to come live with her. Mom acts surprised, graciously nods her head and says, "Yes. That would be nice. Thank-you." I know she'll forget. We talk some more. I make the decision. Though a long time in coming, it seems almost abrupt. It's time. I'll trust Veronica with the care of my precious Mother.

TODAY

We return. We march to the door. Mom's new "home."  Mom once had a house full of "stuff." Now her world's reduced to a suitcase filled with  clothes, a box holding favorite trinkets, a couple of books, a few pictures, and the purse clutched in her hand.  She will live in a small room with people she's never known. They will become her new "family." I feel guilt and relief, shame and grace. A strange mixture of emotion. This will take awhile to settle. I'll visit often.

Her words reverberate in my mind on the long trip home. "I belong with my family."

What have I done?

I remind myself that my "other" Mother, the Mother of yesteryear, would urge me to make the decision I made. Yet still I struggle. I search my soul. Shouldn't I be able to manage? Am I not "good enough?" I ponder and pray. I find a degree of calm in knowing that I, too, am a mother who loves my children with a love immeasurable. I know that were my Mother's circumstances my own (a terrifying thought), I would say to my children, if I could, "Go! Have FUN! Spend time with YOUR children. Remember the good times. They were real. Make good memories. I'll be okay." And I would mean it.

Life is full of partings. When my children began venturing out on their own, I started saying when they were leaving, "Have FUN! I love you! See you soon." I still say this when we part. I've laughingly told my kids that should I ever die (which I don't plan to, but the odds are against me), I want them to imagine me sitting bolt upright, waving, and hollering, "Have FUN! I Love you! See you soon."

This parting is not easy, this leaving my Mother in the care of Another. She  won't make  ANY memories. But she will we safe. She will have fun. She'll be okay. And I do love her. I'll see you soon, Mom.

It's time to move forward to my Always Changing Life.


*Son Joseph wrote a blog a couple of years ago about the "Long Good Bye." In our  family (the Longs!), our "good-byes" are an event, not a quick, hurried social convention. I'll post his link soon.

Just before leaving one "home" for another.