by jphilo | Jun 2, 2015 | Uncategorized
Every Wednesday I spend several hours with Mom at her new home in assisted living. Here’s a peek at what’s best about Wednesdays with Dorothy.
10. The staff at the assisted living facility is friendly to me and loving towards Mom.
9. Getting to know other residents who live there has been delightful.
8. Mom treats me to supper.
7. Mom’s favorite game is Rummikub and the primary colors on the tiles make me feel so happy.
6. Mom’s second favorite game is Uno, and when she wins she gives an evil laugh because she knows it will make me laugh, too.
5. At least once a visit, she looks around and says “I can’t believe Genworth* is paying for this” with wonder and delight.
4. Mom still has a great sense of humor. (See #6)
3. She takes great joy in looking at pictures of her great-grandchildren and showing off the cards and crafts they send.
2. When we are together on Wednesdays, I know without a doubt that I am where God wants me to be, doing what he wants me to do.
1. Mom loved and cared for me in my early years and being able to reciprocate that love and care in her last years is a gift to both of us.
*Genworth is her long term care insurance company.
by jphilo | Jan 12, 2015 | Family
Scholars attribute the saying “All good things must come to an end” to Chaucer, whose end came a long time ago. Other scholars believe the saying was around long before Chaucer. Whoever first spoke or penned those words, I don’t much like them right now. Because those words–and the truth behind them–have settled upon our family with inevitable finality.
Today, Mom is moving into assisted living.
I told her the change needed to be made during our December Camp Dorothy Extravaganza. Her reply? “I knew this day would come someday, but I didn’t think it would be so soon.” Strange words from an 86-year-old, I thought, until she added, “My mother didn’t go to a nursing home until she was 93. I wanted to beat her record.”
“But, Mom,” I said, “this facility is much different from Grandma’s nursing home.”
We talked for a while longer, and she said she just needed time to think. Then she picked up a deck of cards and laid out a game of Solitaire. I watched her wondering what she was thinking, and how the familiar motions of shuffling and organizing the cards by number, red on black on red, aided her thinking.It must have done the trick because she soldiered on through the day in good spirits. Later that evening, when I was helping her get ready for her shower, she said, “I’m sad, Jo,”
“It is sad, Mom,” I agreed. “What’s making you most sad?”
“I won’t ever see this house again,” she said. And with those words, my heart broke. Somehow, I managed to not cry. I couldn’t cry because getting Mom in and out of the shower is dangerous enough without a camp director, blinded by tears. But my heart was–and still is–cracked in two. My mother, whose decline is partly due to Alzheimer’s, clearly saw what I couldn’t bear to admit during a month of constant caregiving, hard decisions, and anticipated changes. Mom knew before I did that all good things must come to and end, which means this.
Camp Dorothy is closed. Forever.
