A new phase approaches

Deep sigh...

My mom is now completely incontinent, urinary-wise and with a measure of fecal incontinence.  Plus, she doesn't want to change her briefs when they become wet, due to a combination of laziness - by her own admission - as well as an aversion to 'wasting money' on briefs and unawareness of her own urination.  So she is at now at risk of needing a nursing home instead of her current assisted living arrangements (one bedroom, one living room with a kitchenette, private bathroom, nice lake view).

And, with her occasional low blood sugar issues, there are some safety concerns, both with any dangerous low blood sugars as well as any associated falls.  She is also on oxygen 100% of the time, 24x7, though she has resisted doing so, at least up until our conversation yesterday.

Yesterday I told her that the potential consequence of wet and overflowing briefs is ... moving to a nursing home. It was not a happy conversation.

Today I checked out nursing homes.  One was straight out of central casting of One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest.  Awful.  The other was clean and orderly, but with her sharing what is a very small hospital-room space.  I've toured yet another, a little further from me but associated with her present facility, and though she'd likely share a room, the place is clean and pleasant and comfortable.

So, as I consider the title of this blog, her life is soon contracting further, from a 3-room apartment to half of a hospital room.  Soon, with a poof, will she just vanish?  She is miserable, and wishes that to be sooner rather than later.  Poor disappearing mother.

Three-year anniversary

My mom has been in her assisted living facility for three years now, as of a couple of days ago.

Wow.  Honestly, when she first got there, I thought she would only live six months or a year, maybe two at most.  She was disoriented and suffered various health challenges.  Good care has extended her life for these three years, and though she is weakening and declining, she remains pretty sharp, even sharper (maybe) than 3 years ago.

Three years.  Surprising.

Clock-checking

Mom has a curious obsession with the time.  She is adamant that, every week or two, I MAKE SURE that each clock is set exactly correctly.  I have to look at my cell phone (which I assure her is set to the Atomic Clock), then look at each of her clocks to be sure they're still right.  She has an electric one, that is of course always correct, and a battery-powered one which I suppose could lose battery power.  And she has a mantle clock which does need occasional tweaking by a minute or so back or forward.

But ... why is the exact time so important?  She doesn't have an intensely scheduled day.  It's curious to me.

More Groundhog Days....

I keep on visiting.

Her toe hurts. Her toilet paper roll needs to be changed.  We chat about Evelyn's latest antics and forgetfulness.  I ask if Bob or Marilyn called, or if she's called Violet.

And we sit in some silence.

She does ask about me and my life at times, and I reply, but I need to be concise because she'll lose interest fairly quickly.  Her eyes glaze over a bit and she starts looking around.

She was very happy with the outcome of her 90th birthday.  She got some nice flowers and a stack of cards.  A few folks visited.  And the flowers are (most of them) still sitting on her desk, dead, but she wants them.  And the balloons in the mylar will stay up for about six months, and she'll leave them there I'm sure. Maybe I'll sneak a little air out each visit so she lets me clean them away.

She doesn't listen to the Books for the Blind tapes.  "Too much trouble" - though I've queued it up and all she has to do is lean slightly to her left and push the giant green button.  Too much trouble.

So she turns on TV and watches the Animal Planet or the Weather Channel or Dr Phil.  And waits for me to come visit so we can discuss her toe, or her toilet paper roll or Evelyn's antics.

Deja vu all over again.  Sigh.

An impossible request, and, not-enoughness

My mother said to me, "Nancy, I need MORE of you.  MORE."

I visit every day, usually for 45 minutes to an hour or more.  Occasionally I can 'only' visit for 15 minutes.

I said, "Mom, you can't have more of me.  I'm giving all I can.  But, out of curiosity, what would be the perfect amount, in your view, if I could give it?"  I was curious how much I was failing her idea of perfection.

She thought about it a moment.  "Three hours."  A day.  Three hours a day, she wants me to sit with her.  Hang out with her.  Be with her.  Attend to her.  Help her feel less lonely.  (Lonely, though she lives in a home with dozens of other lonely people.  Lonely but lazy by her own admission.)

"No, you can't have three hours.  I can't do it.  Mom, we run out of things to say after three minutes!"  She agreed that three hours was probably not reasonable, then in the next breath, she said she wanted it.

I pointed out that her repeatedly saying 3 hours really told me that whatever I was already giving is just not much in her book, that she doesn't really appreciate it and it's not enough.  Never enough.  Never never enough.

She told my sister (who lives out of town and is a great supporter of my efforts) about the request for three hours a day.  My sister said, Mom, when your father was alive, how much did you visit him?  When your mother-in-law lived just down the street, how much did you visit her?  (I probably visit her in a week more time that she gave her father in a year).  She responded, "well, now I'm embarassed."  She got the point ... then the next day when I arrived, she mentioned the three hours again within the first 15 seconds.

Impossible.

Ethics of allowing vs facilitating death at the end of one's life

I received an interesting email about a woman whose husband suffered terribly as he approached the end of his life, taken from a New York Times article.  In this article, the wife, still in good health and with great love and loyalty to her dying husband, struggled with the possibility of deactivating his pacemaker to allow death to occur.  A point came where death became much more merciful instead of allowing a machine to extend a miserable life. 

My mother has repeatedly, yes even insufferably, talked about her desire to die.  To have her life end.  

I believe she feels this way out of boredom, because she chooses to sit and wait to die rather than embracing her remaining days.  Vicious circle. 

I think if she really understood that her pacemaker keeps her alive and her heart beating evenly - somewhat against her will in recent months - she may even want to deactivate it. (Removal is not necessary since it can be deactivated permanently or even temporarily with a big magnet.)  

However - now I think about ethics questions.  In my own mind, whether she is right or wrong to want to die, the pacemaker is artificially extending her life.  The 'natural' state for her is to have a slowing heartbeat that eventually just stops.  So in some sense if death is acceptable or desirable, then deactivating a pacemaker may be a 'natural' way to allow death to come when it comes.  In visits with my sister she compares it to stopping taking one's medicine, and while I resisted that comparison at first, it probably does fit well. 

Doing so seems uncomfortable to us, the living, but is what I would want if my situation were as desperate and hopeless as described in the family in the New York Times article.  

Now the ethical quandary.  My mother is very much alive and although she is bored, she has potential to live, to learn, to help others, to be a part of others' lives. I repeatedly urge her to 'live every day she is alive', as readers of this blog well know.  Instead, it's Doctor Phil and waiting for Nancy. And endless same-ness of each day.  Groundhog Day at age 90.  I do all I can but cannot live life FOR her.  I cannot turn a life of self-absorbed boredom into one of delight.  I do make a difference for her daily in my visits of 20 minutes to 2 hours or more, but I cannot become the 'fun-ness' for her life.  

So, I ponder, is it unethical for her to contemplate such actions to speed the natural end of her life?  Is it unethical for me to describe to her the potential for her to take such an action, knowing that she may choose to take such a course even if I think it is a unnecessary (and possibly even immoral) waste of human life?  

For the most part, I am her support and am there to facilitate her wishes.  If her wishes are to speed death, then whether I would take that same decision or not, I tend to be willing to support her.  But I know I can filter information that she receives.  Where is the line drawn in controlling versus supporting?  

Another one bites the dust. Literally.

Another tooth broke off.  I think that's the fifth one in a year - maybe sixth.

She mentions it like her fingernail broke.  I looked at it and just groaned.  That chunk of tooth (actually, the gold crown with some tooth underneath) now sitting on her walker represents more appointments, more questions, more decisions.  What does one do for an 89-year-old hospice patient?  Of course, comfort is first.  But how much 'fixing' is the right amount?

She keeps saying, My mother didn't teach me to brush twice a day.  OK, Mom, I get that, but what about the seven decades since then?  Oh well.  Off we go to the dentist.  Again.

Old themes returning

Rewind.  Here we go again.

A few days ago, Mom said that she hoped that my husband and I took good care of our health (more about how she said that later in this post), so that we don't experience the terrible life that she is experiencing.

What?  Terrible life?  That came out of left field... though ... it really just is a replay of old poor-me comments.  Every time I think we've licked the self-pity and helped her get a positive attitude, she regresses.  Sigh.  Do I sound unsympathetic?  I'm not, not entirely anyway.  I'm ambivalent, really.  Yes, of course she is not enjoying this difficult phase of her life and that's sad, but on the other hand, she has chosen so much about where and who she is.  She has chosen to sit alone in her room, she has chosen to make Dr Phil as the high point of her day.  So, yes, I am mixed between sympathy and impatience.

I asked her why her life is so terrible.  She said it's because she has no friends.  She recalled back to before she moved here locally, as if that was some idyllic life filled with fabulous friendships.  So I asked her if she had friends in her previous senior housing complex - 'well, no not really, but I knew people'.  "Oh, kinda like here?" I replied.  Yes, she said, I guess so.  Then I asked if before Dad died, were there more friendships then?  Yes, that's it.  He was the outgoing one, and (in her words...) "I just went along for the ride".

Honestly, I feel rather sorry for her, though mixed with annoyance and impatience.  Her entire life she has 'gone along for the ride' with a more social husband.  (She has forgotten that although he was more outgoing, his rudeness also deeply offended many many people who refused to maintain a friendship. The rear-view-window is pretty rosy.)  But isn't that just too sad that someone has lived their entire life without the gift of knowing how to reach out to others?  of being so self-involved that she isn't interested in others' lives?  She commented about a woman very recently widowed that she must not be grieving much because she is already back eating in the common dining room! She is famous in her home for loudly making rude comments about others, and she is reaping what she has sown.

I told her that just outside her door are a small army of individuals who are also lonely.  All she has to do is just go knock and say hello, how are you doing today?  As she's done before, she agreed that she could do it and probably should.  And soon, this whole conversation will be repeated.  I give it a month at most.

Her way of telling me that my husband and I should take care of our health is to tell us that we each needed to lose 100 pounds, 'for her'.  Good grief.  Yes, both of us need to lose weight, but 100 pounds is insane.  Very very hurtful. I felt again like the crushed preteen that suffered cruel comments on my weight from my cold mother so many years ago.  The next day after our conversation, I went back and said how much it hurt me and to please know that, on the list of my motivators, she is way way down on the list, and to please never ever mention it again.  It's not her problem, it's not her business.  "Yes but..." was her response.

Rewind.  Replay.  Here we go again.

Steaks and corn on the cob and a great breeze

Yesterday, my husband was off work for Memorial Day and we decided to grill some steaks.  I debated inviting my mother - I knew she'd enjoy it but the logistics (transport, toileting) are a nightmare.  It would turn a potentially lovely relaxing evening to ... something else entirely.

I invited her.  Oh lordie I'm a good girl!  (oh, what's that noise you ask?  the sound of me patting myself on the back... grin...)  Also invited our kids and grandkids at the last minute - a family day. 

So I make the run to her assisted living facility, pack her up with her essentials (water, sunglasses and a clean Depends; I convince her not to bring a banana since we are not going to a third world country but just to my house).  We get back to the house and I muster up my courage and wheel her through the grass, down the hill, through the gate, around more hillside, until we finally get to the back of the house and onto the brick patio.  Though this sounds perilous (OK, OK, I admit she almost dumped out a time or two), it's better than the three steps up into the house and the six steps down to the walkout apartment which leads to the patio.)

But, she had a GREAT time.  She just sat there, enjoying the breeze, asking about the bushes and vines.  Listening to birds.  Eating steaks with luscious corn on the cob and salad.  It was a perfect day - warm in the sun, pleasant in the shade.

The kids came over, and she (kinda) listened as the girls talked about school and this and that.  My daughter in law asked about her life - what was the highlight of her life.  She answered, much to my surprise, "My kids".  That may be some elder-editorializing since I'm not sure that would have been her answer earlier in her life, but it's nice to think that, upon reflection, that is what mattered most.  Really nice.

When I brought her home, as we opened her apartment door, she gasped happily, "Oh, I'm HOME!".  She enjoyed her day but that apartment is her safe zone, her refuge.  She had a wonderful time going to our house - and coming home.  A good day, and some nice memories for us all.

Dream of death

Yesterday, Mom called and said she had a disturbing dream, of her own death.

What was interesting to me is that the part that was so very upsetting to her is the fact that, in her dream, they were trying to resuscitate her in spite of her having a DNR (Do Not Resuscitate) order in her purse.  She kept trying to tell them about her DNR and they didn't believe her. And then she was concerned that her pacemaker would keep her 'alive' against her wishes.

She's really ready to die.  She is weaker each day, napping after breakfast, after lunch, and going early to bed.  She's quite coherent, alert, interactive ... just tired of all this.

More from book Another Country by Mary Pipher

I have this amazing book about understanding the older generation.  I've mentioned it before here  - my sister loaned it to me and I've been reading it in spurts.  It has been a real boon to me, to understand both my own mother better and to help me manage my own reaction to her and her needs.  It also helps me understand the aging process so that I can avoid some problems.

The book talks about the 'young-old' vs 'old-old'.  Often the difference is one's health - the 'old-old' have health issues make it more difficult to live well.  In fact, this has inspired me and my husband to make some improvements in our own health. I'm almost 60, he's almost 65, and our progress so far is slow but sure.

Here are some blurbs that grabbed me, from Chapter 5.  I'm sharing them, not as complete thoughts, but as teasers.  Such as:

• 'The old-old die by inches'. 
• Caregivers alternate between guilt and rage. 
• Baggage from past affects relationships as parents age. Clashing needs.
• Caretakers live with fear about making wrong decision in life/death matters, especially when factors influencing the decision are so nebulous. 
• 'I'm guilty wherever I am' syndrome. (If I'm with my mother, I'm guilty I'm not doing other needed things, and vice versa.)
• Delicately balanced relationships can topple under the weight of caring for elders. (I started noting page numbers - this was p134)
• Crises with eldercare make everyone more who they really are, removing the filters and faux fronts. (p134)
• 'I love my father but I don't like him.' (p135)
• We may see ourselves as children - scared vulnerable.  (p137)
• Unpleasant memories don't disappear just because a parent is ill and dependent.  (p139)
• p149
• Yeats quote:  "Growing old is like being tied to a dying animal." (p164)
• Disaster stories tell us what humans do when they are shoved hard against the wall.  Old age is our own personal disaster story, our own worst-case scenario.  Each of us will experience our ship going down; we'll experience being lost and alone and far from home.  (p188)

There's loads more good reading the book, but those are a few that I made a note of.  I am eager to finish what's left of the book. I so highly recommend it.    

Change, routine and an adventure

Honestly, there is not much to mention, but I'll enter an update anyway.

My mother's hospice nurse died quite suddenly.  She had a fall, then didn't improve and after a body scan of some type, they found cancer "everywhere".  She died within a week or so.  Shocking.  A realization of how quickly one's death can come.  We liked Margaret a lot - she was a little rough in her voice and manner but really funny and likable.

My mother's health itself remains mostly static, though the new nurse told me that her congestive heart failure (CHF) is advancing.  There is some way of scoring it based on the size of the heart - it used to be in the 170s and now is in the 280s (or, it used to be in the 200s and now is in the 300s?).  Anyway, a decline. She seems the same mostly, just more tired.  The new nurse Connie said that in cases like this, she could go on for a time, or, could just not wake up one morning.  She's not feeling a need for oxygen, though, so it may not be too awfully bad.  Connie said that when her appetite decreases, it may be that the body's need for oxygen may prioritize the heart and brain and reduce available resources for digestion, hence a lack of appetite.  But, so far Mom is eating well so we'll just watch for that.

And my brother visited last weekend.  His granddaughter had a soccer game, and Bob invited Mom to go.  She said no, she didn't feel like it.  I got on the phone and shamed her into it - how much her great-granddaughter would like to see both her and her own grandfather watch her play.  That if she didn't go, Bob wasn't going to go, thus a double-loss. Finally she relented - and had a wonderful time.  She brought stacks of covers to keep her warm, and Bob had to help her in the bathroom, but she made it - and loved it!  She was glowing.

Other than that, routine prevails.  Almost-daily visits.  Change the toilet paper roll, buy orange juice.  Look for this or that.  Clip fingernails. Asking about her neighbors there. Clean the sink.  Just spend some time together, gazing and holding hands.

word of the day

My mother handed me a list of words, written on flowery paper in her shaky, weak handwriting:

• Chapultepec
• bituminous coal
• ozone
• Weimerauner (on the list twice), and related (in her mind), Lippizaner
• metatarsal
• sanctions 

She said she has started to wake up with a word on her mind. She has been writing it down, and asked me to research and print a bit about each.  We talked about the meanings briefly, but she would like a bit of research.

I'm heartened by this interesting request. It shows curiosity and interest in learning.

On the same visit as this request, though, she said she doesn't think 'it' will be much longer (before death). She is happy about that, or at least, content. But then in the next breath she said she hasn't needed the oxygen so much so maybe she's doing OK.  Though it can be disturbing to talk with her with such ease about her impending death, it must be a relief for her to be able to talk about it comfortably.  I allow her to dwell on it as much as she seems to want to talk about it, then we move on.

My vacation - I survived! She is surviving!

My husband and I decided to take a longish car trip from Kansas City to Southern California to visit and back, but with time on both ends for some touring.  On the way out (to visit friends in the mountains), the plan was to stop to see my brother, and on the way back to do some touring in Arizona, Utah and California. 

The first night, in a tiny town in the middle of Kansas, I had an 'event' that could have been a heart problem, or a medication interaction ... but I passed out in the bathroom, breaking a tooth and waking up on the cold tiles.  We went to the emergency room of a VERY small hospital.  They ended up releasing me, warning me to stop immediately in an emergency room if I experienced further symptoms.  (Have they seen the route between Kingman Kansas and Albuquerque?  I suspect most towns make do with no more than a veterinarian.)  While I could milk that story ad infinitum, I'll move on. 

As I sat in the emergency room receiving care, I found the tables turned. different from my attending to my mother's needs with her sometimes-frequent trips there. I wasn't crazy about being the one with the gown. 

I have spent the vacation, since that Night One, worrying whether I should have turned around to be fully examined.  Each time I've gotten short of breath, I wondered. Each twinge, I wondered.  (I've been fine, and have an appointment immediately upon my return.) 

Mom has been fine, no really, she has been surprisingly positive.  (She bounced right back after my last blog post, and though still fragile, she is as she was before the pain patch made her unstable and sick.)  I have called almost daily (when I had signal), and she has a list of people to call if she gets lonely.  I helped her line up a massage (!  Her first!), and she signed up for another while I'm gone.  She misses me, but her attitude has been great. 

I decided not to tell my mother about my fall and hospital visit until I get back, and to share it as one of many stories from my trip.  I am still a couple of days away from a return, and am figuratively holding my breath.  

Pain, oxygen and a decline

Deep breath.

Mom was walking (with her walker) back from a meal a few days ago when she became quite short of breath, and remained that way for a time.  She called for help using her ever-present button, and the staff called the hospice nurse, who said to help her use the oxygen machine that had been sitting in the corner since she started hospice.  The episode resolved, she went back to normal, and she has had staff take her to meals in her wheelchair to meals to prevent a recurrence of the shortness of breath.

Hospice sent portable tanks and tubing to be available, in addition to the big machine.  Mom started stressing about needing to have oxygen ever-present, asking help from the assisted living aides.  (I think it was a little bit of a thrill to have a new addition to her routine.) Asking for help led to (unfortunately), the unit manager raising red flags immediately about such routine oxygen support not being included in the level of care, that Mom may have to move.  This of course was upsetting to Mom.  Sigh.

We determined that, while she may need oxygen occasionally, she does not have to be 'on' oxygen 24x7 at all - at least not now.

Next she heard from a table-mate that a 'pain patch' is a great way to control pain, which has been increasing with arthritis and back pain (due to both slumping and falls).  So I brought her to the doctor to talk about pain management and a pain patch.  She tried it, and in less than 24 hours, she fell this morninig due to dizziness, and then at noon, she threw up.  The patch is off, and we're back to her just having to ask for pills.

I was with her when she threw up, and so I took her back to her room, made her bed, helped her change her clothes, and helped her into bed.  It was so sad, how frail she was. Her confusion - she called me by the wrong name, said silly nonsensical things (kind of an elderly game of Word Association).  How desperate and afraid. She is tired of this. She hurts most of the time and the effort to go through daily life is overwhelming.  She cannot easily get about without aid.  She often cannot manage toileting successfully.  She requires help showering.  Her life is shrinking even more.

As I left her today, in bed to rest, I again realized that it is not unthinkable that she may die before I see her next.  I suspect that is not the case, that her frailness is more due to the residual effect of the pain patch medicine that didn't sit well with her.  But one day, probably soon, will be her last.  And what a relief for all.  Poor thing.

Glass half-full

I took my mother to her hometown, Topeka, Kansas, last Saturday - about 1.5 hour drive.  We visited her best friend from childhood, Mayme, who is still living there.  They delight to see each other, and laugh over their history, talk about names and stories from long ago.  Plus, Mayme tells me things like the fact that my mother was always late as a young woman - a fact that delights me when I am (too often) late arriving at my impatient mother's home.

I adore Mayme. I admire Mayme.  I enjoy Mayme.

This visit, my mother was in a wheelchair.  Mayme has difficulty with her knees, but gets around slowly without even a cane.  Mayme still lives in the same house as she has since I was a child and our families visited and we played in the park across the street.  We lunched, drove around the old neighborhood, and visited Mayme's husband.

Mayme's husband had a stroke some time ago, and is now in full-time nursing care, beginning to experience dementia as well.  Mayme visits him every single day, though she has no car.  She has a taxi come for her each afternoon, and gets home the same way after her husband goes to sleep. During her time there, she fixes his bed 'just right' after the aides get him into his wheelchair for a few hours.  She fusses with him, talks to him, or just reads.  She said that when she goes home each evening and reads some more, she can feel his presence in 'his chair' on the other side of the fireplace.

But - Mayme always has a positive attitude.  Always. She finds it. She fights for it.

She is grateful.

She giggles.

She is eager to see what's next, what's new, what's interesting.  She is curious.

Though she is 89, with many many challenges, yet she finds joy in each day. And, I believe, she will continue thus for some time.  Her glass will always be half-full - at least.

Boredom... inevitably part of end-of-life? Oh, I hope not!!!

I've continued to think about the previous post, "Dying of Boredom". I've wondered - is this just a natural (and even a helpful) part of the end of life? A willingness to just... let go? But I don't think it necessarily is that way, as I described previously. The people in a group home are a subset of elderly folks. There are others who are not in such a place will have a different situation. Surely some elderly ones out there are sitting in their own homes (or in their family's home) watching TV, utterly bored. But others may be caring for grandchildren, reading, going to lunch, cooking, gardening, volunteering. Engaged. Challenged. Interested in what's NEXT in life...


It makes me think of a book that my sister loaned me, Another Country, Mary Pipher, PhD (see Amazon, Another Country: Navigating the Emotional Terrain of Our Elders). It talks about the 'young-old' and the 'old-old'. In many cases, health difficulties may turn someone into an 'old-old' person, which may make it virtually inevitable to lose interest in life around oneself. But this book describes magnificently the differences between my mother's generation and my own baby-boomer generation. It is very helpful to provide insight into why an elder may be as they are. I recommend the book highly.


So, my own goal as I face turning 60 later this year? Stay among the 'young-old'. Improve my health. Be engaged. Be interested in what's next. I've moved over to a Spanish congregation and am mentoring and helping there with their challenges. I read, do puzzles, and am very very engaged in my community. (And my sister and I have a mutual pact to beat the other with a baseball bat if we get bored with life.)
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Dying of boredom?

My mother received a visit from her hospice workers.  They were running some tests, and while they were prepping her, she chatted about hospice.  She told them that another man at her home is also using hospice services, and has been doing so for some time.  She said that the two of them often joke about which one will 'go' first - they call out to one another as they pass in the hallways, "Are you still around?".  The workers laughed nervously.. she has a rather dark sense of humor.

But I really think a big part of their attitude is just boredom.

I wonder if they are just 'done' doing things.  Or having goals.  Bringing meaning to life, to themselves, to others.  Maybe they ran out of 'life' before they actually died.

There are many many activities at her assisted living center.  For my mother, I visit daily. I urge her to go talk to others to cheer them up and help them feel connected.  She does talk a walk once daily down the halls to watch some gentlemen play pool - which is great. But she chooses to sit and watch TV for the rest of her waking hours.

Yesterday during our visit we picked up her crossword book - formerly a passion - and did parts of a couple puzzles together.  She enjoyed it ... but just for a bit, then she just set it aside, bored.

Marking time until she dies.
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Tiny helps mean so much

Today I visited Mom and did a few small things... wound her clock, unpacked some supplies from hospice.  Filled her water glass. Adjusted her chair.  Nothing much - just itty bitty things that are hard for her now.

She was so grateful.  I was glad I can do it.

But it strikes me how tiny her world has become, that such small things can brighten her world.

An anniversary for me

Two years ago today (Mar 14 2008) was my last day in my corporate job.  I took a voluntary layoff to give me time to support my mother as well as to enlarge my time with my volunteer work and to escape frustrations of corporate life.

What a change.  I can't believe it's been two years.  Feels like six months, maybe a year.  But I haven't missed the 11:30 PM texts from my boss or long hours or stress.  And it's been nice to have a schedule that allows me to visit mom, as well as to live a life more in synch with my personal values and passions.

And while my income has been cut to about 20% - 25% of what it was before, the enjoyment of my life has been so much richer.  More meaningful.  I miss the financial security, but that can't possibly buy my life now.  Not by a long shot.

My mother had moved to her assisted living facility nearby about six months before I was laid off, so that means she has been here 2 1/2 years.  Wow.  I honestly thought she could only survive three, maybe six months at the time, due to her confusion and frailness.  She has stabilized - gotten much worse in some ways, gotten more stable in others - and my own awareness of how much someone can endure has deepened.

My support of her has gotten easier now in many ways, compared to that first year.  The many tasks associated with 'taking over' her life have dissipated - the facility orders and administers her medicines, hospice helps with many medical needs and supplies.  The business matters have reduced greatly - just a few bills to pay monthly, a monthly fax to insurer, occasional visits with financial guy, doing her taxes each year. Now it's the small daily things - pick up a bulb for the night light and yogurt, put on her toilet paper roll the way she likes.  Doctor's visits. And I'll admit there is some filing and some things that are yet to do.  But honestly, looking back two years at the blog, I can see the improvement in my situation - now. It's been a long haul but, yes, it gets better.