The big family meeting, and a future move

I've dreaded posting. We have been going through a tremendous change here, and I have struggled repeatedly how to share it. I have several drafts started. I wonder if I'll even post this.  Well, I need to start somewhere, eh? So, let's go...

I wrote here in November that my husband and I want to move to Peru, to retire next summer. When I started caring for my mother here almost five years ago, I didn't dream it would last so long, and hadn't anticipated this day. Still, it arrived.

My brother and sister came here over the holidays, and we had a family meeting, with Mom. I told her I am leaving early summer for Peru. She had about ten seconds where she looked shocked and a tiny bit emotional, then quietly listened. My brother held her hand as he talked about what he offered - to have her live in his home with him and his wife. My sister talked about how she would like to have Mom in an assisted living home there, though her own health (advanced rheumatoid arthritis) and job and climate make it less than ideal. We said my daughter offered to have her in Wisconsin. So, as of the end of the meeting, she was - shockingly! - accepting of moving to the Southwest with my brother.

I was flabbergasted.  When I expect graciousness, she is negative. When I expect ugliness and pleading and negativity, like with this move, she is lovely and accepting.  Wow.

She has continued to be (mostly) OK in our visits since then. Since I had been talking about Peru, she knew it was a deep desire of ours, and a strong intention - she just now learned the "when".  I am still dumbfounded that she hasn't begged or pushed back yet.

She is anxious about little things.  Getting on the plane - that is, physically stepping onto the plane from the jetway. Will she get lost in my brother's house. Who will dress her in the mornings. OK, those aren't really little things - but they show she is thinking through her life, how it will be, and I think that is excellent.

We've had some vacillations, though.  My brother called one day to tell me he was having "second thoughts".  This was extremely frustrating, since Mom was now counting on this option. It is understandable that he would be concerned about the impact on his family - but BOY do I wish he had thought about that PRIOR to making this offer (and being the big hero of the family meeting). (I think he has come back on track to offer to have her there with/near him.)  Also, Mom has had some time when she thought maybe she could just stay in the assisted living home where she lives - but we talked about the extreme loneliness and the importance of having a health-care advocate who is local (among other things).

It has raised some family issues, however. I am the one with Power of Attorney for legal matters, as well as the co-trustee, which means I have the purse strings. I will need to make financial arrangements to ensure my brother has funds to care for Mom - but he strongly strongly wants to have the controls passed to him. Unfortunately (?), we can't make changes now, since Mom has a diagnosis of dementia. He feels belittled and out of control, which I guess I understand, but he needs to learn to trust that it will be OK. We will devise some strategies to make sure he is very well funded to handle her needs.

I am deeply grateful for the willingness of him and his wife to do this. It's a huge deal - whether she is in the house especially, or even to have her in a nearby facility.

I am also tremendously relieved that I have an end-date in sight, so we can start this new chapter in our lives.

Of course, Mom finishes each chat with comments about how this may not even happen, that she eagerly hopes she dies before this comes to pass.  She continues to be ready and hoping for her life to end, the sooner the better.  And I say, yes, Mom, that's true.  Let's see.

Mike, the uber-chef, and his 'special sauce'

Let me tell you about the charming and kind chef, Mike, at my mother's new care center.  He shows me that so much depends on my attitude.  I've written about him before, on February 28. He has continued to impress me.

I met Rick as we sat on the couch at the care center, waiting to sign admission papers.  A burly man was sitting there looking at some menus, and he stood up (as a gentleman) when we, as ladies, entered the room.  We started chatting.  He is a displaced Boston Italian, charming. He seems to have a million stories, and has had a rich life. He is a cook, and has owned restaurants with dreams of caring for his family doing what he loves. Yet, after some twists and turns in his life, he is here, cooking for some very senior citizens.

Now, how would you handle that?  How would I handle it?  Would I see myself as a failure, bitterly disappointed to have to cook for those who may be quick to complain?  These elderly ladies and men have palates that are Midwestern, leaning toward meatloaf and mashed potatoes, rather than robust and Italian as Mike loves to cook. Many residents have reached an age where little tastes good, and medical issues may prohibit them from having as much salt and sugar as they might like.

So, given all that, would I value this place in my life, if I now had to cook for these folk?  Would I consider myself as being in a successful place in my career?  Would you?

If you have any doubt, please talk to Mike.

Mike views this stage in his life as being golden.  He works long hours - from before breakfast to after the evening meal - but just for three and a half days a week. The rest of the time, he gets to enjoy time with his family and spend time with his children. He lives in a city where he is able to live at a slower pace than Boston, and I assume, to live in a better home that he would have been able to afford there. You'd think he'd been handed the keys to the city. He glows when he talks about his life and family.

Even more, he treasures his privilege of cooking for the older folks. He told us that he is very aware that he will probably cook the very last meal that some of the residents will ever eat, and he counts that an honor.  As we sat there, meeting him for the first time, he repeatedly insisted that my mother tell him exactly how she liked things cooked, and he means it!  She even said she doesn't like potatoes in her soup, and so he makes every effort not to give her potatoes in her soup - and he doesn't even point out to her that it's a little cuckoo that she loves potato soup but dislikes potatoes in her soup!

After dinner, he comes out, takes off his cap in deference to the ladies, and talks to his guests.  But he doesn't stand next to them, nor even lean down toward them.  He gets down on one knee to be sure he is on their level, to hear and look at them in the eye. He laughs with them, gently kids them a little, and gets ribbed in return. He watches to see what food gets returned to learn how to improve his offerings.

And his food is delicious, by the way.  Shrimp scampi and barbeque ribs, chicken-fried steak, custom-made salads, and egg or tuna salad sandwiches that are so stuffed that they overflow the side of the bread. And, there's even the occasional spaghetti or ziti pasta! Really delicious.

Honestly, he might still cook about the same, whether he viewed his role as important or not. But I can't help but believe that there is an added sweetness, a 'special sauce', that comes from someone who has chosen to be content. Someone who sees the goodness in his situation, and look beyond the disappointments or even bitterness that we all experience in our lives. Mike smiles his wry lopsided Boston grin, tells you about his kids and this week's menu and about his great life, and you know you are in excellent hands.

My brother is irritated with me - but let's not talk about it!

When we were moving Mom a couple moves ago, I had prepared a lot of her apartment for the move to the nursing home.  I had spent many hours sorting through her things, planning and anticipating the move.  My brother happened to have a business trip here, so happily for all of us, he could help; my sister and her husband were coming down from Iowa. So, we were all there to do the sorting and cleaning out and clearing out. Great. It was a LOT of work - furniture and mementos and clothing and hospice supplies, photos and things both precious and trash-able. A lot of work for a short weekend, and three older adults plus two spouses.

And just to give context, I'll remind you I'm a daughter.  Not the golden son, oh no, I am the daughter.  And I'm the middle child.

In the course of the move, my sister and I noticed that my brother was irritated.

Let's just say that he is used to being Mr Male, Mr In-Charge.

Ummmm..... so am I, except substitute "Ms".  I've managed large and complex projects and high-level work teams in my corporate life, all before I retired.  So, I'm really OK with managing things - I was not fluttering around, all confused and silly, "Oh my I wish there were a MAN here to guide me!"  I am not an insane control freak, but I knew what had to be done, and I knew our resources and time, and I was somewhat directive.

Anyway...  at some point, I'd asked the guys to do something, and my brother just got really tense.

My husband said that my brother made some comment about trying to be accepting.  And my brother has been tense ever since. Somewhat.  Except of course he doesn't really say anything directly.  Just curt, just tiny rudeness. Wisps of smoke, not full flames. I won't bother relating the curt email he sent after ignoring my three weeks' worth of emails.

Oh well.  I'm here, doing my thing.  It's easy for him to want to waltz in every 2-3 months and be Mr In-Charge, but here, life is going on without him.  And we're really very OK.  But it puts a distance between him and me.  And I'm tired of being the one to make peace since I actually feel like putting a bit of fuel on that fire.  So, I'll just let him be the way he is.  And it will go away eventually, yet another wound that only partially heals, waiting for the next cut. Just like my entire history of my life growing up in this family.

My father and my sister had a conversation about me, many years ago.  He literally said, "Nancy and I have a great relationship - we don't talk".  My sister was flabbergasted that he so clearly articulated the matter.  That he was, apparently, so very aware.  And - my brother believes we had a perfect childhood, and aspires to be my father.  I believe he has, for the most part, achieved his goal.

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.