Wednesday, June 15, 2011

The First Time I Moved My Mom

I remember so clearly the day I moved my mom and also the days and weeks leading up to this move.  Twice!  I would say the first move was harder until the moment I think about the second move and then I question, which one was harder?  It is a memory that will last me a lifetime.
My mom had a hard life but thankfully, because she was a Christian, she always looked to God during her struggles and He sustained her.  Thinking back, I know that her life, hard as it was, brought her much joy.  She worked hard, cared deeply for each of her children, tended her garden of sweet peas, gardenias, camellias and roses and every year when I was young, she would sew me the most intricate Halloween costume.   I was always so proud to wear my unique and special costume to the school parade.  Mom delighted in baking and shared that talent every Christmas by baking a dozen different kinds of special cookies and gave them to all her friends to enjoy.  Mom loved writing and I have learned much about her from the poetry that was discovered when she died ~ years of poetry that told a story of a life that was fraught with sorrows but also great joys and even some whimsical and playful moments were scattered throughout her life.  Whimsical and playful was more how I had remembered my dad.  It was nice to see this wonderful playfulness in my mom.  My mom was a strong and courageous woman who lived a beautiful life and prided herself in her decision making and she tried hard to control the direction of her life, albeit how much control do any of us really have?
And then, slowly, mom started aging.  My dad had died many years earlier and mom had never remarried.  She had moved into a smaller apartment in downtown Fullerton and she was managing quite nicely on her own.  Until the day I began to notice, along with my sister, that she wasn’t managing so well.  It sort of snuck up on all of us, her included.  She became more and more forgetful.  She didn’t remember if she had taken her medications nor did her bills get paid regularly.  She forgot places she was supposed to be.  But the realization that mild dementia was setting in occurred the day I opened her oven and an overcooked roast sat in the oven, dried out and old.  She had forgotten it was even there, had never eaten it and I wondered how it is that she even remembered to turn the oven off.  I knew that day, the time had come for what was called assisted living.  This was my solution for a woman who didn’t believe she needed one moment of assistance with living.
As my sister and I planned this part of the journey for my mom, aware that she was resisting, we cajoled, asked for her thoughts and finally, sternly told her we needed her assistance and cooperation.  Her assistance and cooperation never came.  She resisted packing, became angry at the idea of leaving some things behind and was clearly disappointed and angry with Joann and me.
As in every family, the family dysfunction that existed quietly on many days screamed out and became more pronounced, more extreme, more separating the closer we came to that inevitable moving day.   Both my sister and I got angry and, at times, cried, never understanding why the emotion had to run so high.  I loved my mom.  I just wanted her to be safe and cared for! 
And finally the day came!  We packed everything we were taking and made the jaunt across town to a very lovely assisted living facility.  It was difficult for my mom.  She felt abandoned, unloved, her wishes disregarded.  Joann and I felt misunderstood and discouraged.   I cannot reach deep enough into my heart to share articulately just how heartbreaking this day was for me.  Still, I knew it was the “right” thing to do.
A blessing was received shortly after that miserable day.  Mom began to settle in, soften.  Her smile returned to her face.  She even looked forward to visits by Joann or me.  She liked the food and brought back snacks to her room.  She played bingo and loved her prizes, was proud actually of how many games she won.  She felt she was just a little better at bingo than the other residents.  She loved the man who came on Sundays and played spiritual hymns on his guitar; all the ones she loved.  But the real blessing occurred about two or three weeks into her new life.  One day as I visited she looked at me and said, “Susie, moving in here was the best idea I ever had”.  And she didn’t crack a smile.  She meant it.  She had forgotten all the angst, all the difficulty and resistance and she was happy here.  I was so happy to agree with her!  I was so pleased that she wanted credit for this “best decision”.  On that day, I knew we had done the right thing.  It was clear that she was slipping and now, there was someone to make sure she was okay every minute of every day.

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