About the title of the blog, "As my mother slowly disappears"

"As my mother slowly disappears."  Have I explained that title?

I have been struck at the changes in the size of the footprint of my mother's life.  She, as do all of us, had a big footprint in her adult life.  Owned a house. Cars.  Travel for pleasure, travel for family.  A job. Influence in her community. Children. Grandchildren. Edited some community newsletters. Hosted dinners.  Attended Elderhostel.  Was active, engaged.

And over the last 20 years, her footprint has been diminishing.

Her husband died.  Whoosh, in a heartbeat, her life footprint diminished by half.

After a bit, the house then went. Sold.  The possessions in the house gone, as my sister and I and my niece (representing our absent brother) pawed through boxes and piles.  At first, we were happy to have this or that thing; toward the end, whoever simply let their gaze linger too long on an item was 'stuck' with it, as we tried to avoid enlarging our own piles.  But the Stuff had to go...

... to get her into an apartment.  She stayed there for maybe 5 years.  They provided her dinner meal; she only prepared breakfast and lunch in her tiny kitchenette.  Visits from family sleeping on the sofabed. Until fires in her kitchen and other health risks meant she could no longer live there.

More sorting through the remains of a lifetime. More reducing her footprint. More passing along to family.

Next, she moved into Assisted Living.  Two rooms. They provide three meals. Housekeeping.  And during the last years, she has added services including administering her medicines, giving her showers, helping her get around. Hospice even helps her urinate (with a catheter).

Her life is sitting in her red chair, watching TV and waiting for Dr Phil. And for me.  And waiting to die.  To disappear.  Poof, and she's gone.

Then us kids come in, sort through whatever remains, and then she exists only in memories and photos.  She takes up no space at all.

Disappeared. Gone.