Wrapping up the story, Part One: The Move

It has now been almost a month since I brought my mother to New Mexico to live with my brother Bob.  I made some notes at the time of things I wanted to mention here, but only now do I have the energy and perspective to wrap up this story, our story.  I think this will have to continue across several blog posts, but if you will bear with me, I promise to bring us to a conclusion.

As we neared the departure date, there was much to do. Mom's business papers - I had to prepare them and organize them to handoff to Bob.  Changing addresses, contacting businesses to update them.  Bank accounts, investment accounts.  Create legal means to give my brother the Power of Attorney.  Extensive work to arrange rental of a Portable Oxygen Concentrator (POC) to allow her to have oxygen while on the airplane ($450!).  Working with our hospice hear to transfer her to care down there.  

Then there was attending to my mother's emotional needs.  She was pretty anxious, and I found myself constantly talking her down from a panic of one kind or another. She did alright, with time, but was very worried with all the uncertainty.  She thought she might "get lost" in Bob's house. What would she eat.  Would she be welcome. And so on. 

And there was packing up her apartment. 

The day came for the trip.  Overall, it went fine, but it was utterly exhausting for both of us.  I was pushing her wheelchair, juggling her purse and her (very heavy, bulky/awkward) POC, including trying to keep the battery conserved and plugged in, when possible, and then later changing the 10 pound battery mid-flight. When she needed to use the restroom in the airport, there was a long line, then the exhausting lifting her, changing the brief, convincing her to wash her hands.  By that time the plane was loading ... and there was the struggle to get her into the plane seat.  

By the time we got to Albuquerque, I nearly burst into tears with relief to see my brother and his wife. If there was a physical "key" to my mother's care, I could hand it to them and feel the weight off my shoulders. 

To be continued...

Disappearing ... both of us?

Mom, disappearing ... the theme of this blog. I would like to revisit this theme, if you don't mind. 

Since my mother will be moving to my brother's in a few months, I am conscious of the need to clean out some detritus, especially in organizing, clarifying and purging old business papers. And when she moves, she will not have her bed or other equipment that belong to hospice here, and will receive same down in New Mexico when she arrives, from their hospice service.  She has said she doesn't need the television ("I can't see it!") or much of other furniture.  Her footprint, her presence, shrinks even more, as she awaits death with hunger. 

Yet, with my own move to Peru on the approaching horizon, I am finding my own life-footprint has dramatically reduced. Instead of my 5-level 4-bedroom 3-bath house, I am in a small apartment (and LOVING it). Instead of an office overflowing with paperwork, we are constrained to a few plastic tubs, and trying to scan ourselves down to almost nothing. Instead of a cherry dining room table seating 10-12, we eat on a card table.  And we are LOVING it! 

We have divested ourselves of most of our family heirlooms, either by giving them to willing descendants or where none exists, to friends who will treasure them and the stories we've shared about the pieces. When we actually leave the apartment, what remains will go the way of the other ones.  We have given away sterling silver flatware, serving dishes.  Limoges china. Antique hand-painted teacups. Linens. Rocking chairs and china cabinets. Photographs. Recipe boxes from long ago. Damask tablecloths and handmade aprons. A thousand little treasures that I enjoyed seeing, touching, to a point ... but that I rarely used, and that buried me under the weight of other people's lives. 

Ten, twenty years ago, I treasured these things. Now they choke me. I drown in their shadows. 

In a sense, yes, I might be said to also be disappearing, in the sense of the detritus attached to us is dropping away. We are less 'significant' in the sense of our perceived stability, or our being Owners of Important Stuff in this world. 

Instead, I feel a thousand pounds lighter. I feel like I can sprout wings and fly. Free of obligation to sit at the Altar of Ancestors, holding onto their things. Soon, we will be down to our two suitcases, flying to Peru, awaiting an unparalleled adventure.  

Even if we have to come back to the USA, eventually I don't think we'll miss all the stuff. Meantime, I will look forward to growing old in the Andes, overlooking an unimaginably beautiful vista, helping others and growing old in peace with incredible richness of life. 

My mother's slow disappearance is inevitable. Mine is more abrupt, more by choice, and I am utterly thrilled. 

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.

A marathon, a 5k and a 100-yard-dash

During most of my adulthood, it was my (younger) sister who lived closer to my parents and was the primary child who did the supporting and engaging. Both my (older) brother and I lived out of state and were busy with our lives. She was the one who went for holidays or visited most often. She had the longest run - about 40 years, though rarely intense on a daily or weekly basis.

She had the 'marathon' - the longest run.

Then almost five years ago, our family realized that Mom, now widowed, needed to move closer and get some help from one of us.  It seemed logical at the time for her to live near me, mostly because I live now where she raised her family, and she felt connected to the area.  So she came here. I've visited her daily or almost-daily for over four years now.

I have had the 5k run.  It's lasted a while.

But I'm tiring out, and I am wanting to do something else.  My husband is able to retire anytime, and we are planning a move to Peru to retire and volunteer.  Yet, I keep making laps on this track.  The same track, the same routine, the laps that seem endless. We keep thinking we're near the finish line - mom's own desire that her weary life ends - then she bounces back and we head around the loop for another lap.

Meantime, my husband waits in the stands.  He has had heart disease and a family history of cancer, and is five years older than me, and we are eager to go to our own next step in life. I am acutely aware of time passing, and that I want to get off the track and have the freedom to have our next (last?) adventure together.

Also, some changes will occur in my mother's financial resources in the springtime.  This is a good time to consider a change.

So, I have opened discussions with my sister and brother about what to do. They have both indicated a willingness to have her closer, though my brother (and especially his wife) have said they could have her in their home.  Their home is perfect (one story, broad hallways) and their location is warm (Albuquerque). It is perfect.  Plus, my sister's home with steps would make it impossible to have Mom in the home and my sister's advanced rheumatoid arthritis would make it impossible to have my sister help with wheelchair outings to doctors or restaurants. So ... we are thinking that the next step for Mom, assuming she survives, will be my brother's home.

Yet, while my brother was the golden child growing up, the beloved firstborn son, he may not be my mother's first choice as a caregiver. She assumes that one needs a uterus to be a nurturer.  My brother's wife is willing to adjust her work schedule, and she is funny and caring. Plus, hospice can continue helping with her care in their home. We kids are pretty concerned that Mom won't react well to this change, but we will be persuasive, and I really think she'll end up loving being so closely connected to family in her last weeks or months.

He may have the 100-yard-dash, the briefest but most intense run.

Each child will have had our own race, our own turn to be close to Mom.  Seems fair to me, and I'm ready.

A Disney day

Today feels like a true Disney day.  The sun is shining, the birds are singing, all's right with the world - with a nod to Robert Browning as well.

Yesterday, the day was dismal - rainy, cold, lightning and thunder.  I had acute bronchitis, with a spot on my lung that looked like possible pneumonia.  I had chills, fever.  My doctor warned me to stay away from my mother and go home to bed. 

But it was move day.  Nuh uh, doc.  Gotta go.  

Equipped with hand sanitizer and, yes, a mask, I went to work.  Got her physically moved with a few essentials (sheets, blanket, her nightgown, cookies, walker and wheelchair), before lunch.  Hospice moved in the hospice bed and her oxygen. 

Then went home to wait for the second shift.  

My son Kelly and his brother-in-law Chad came at 6:15 that evening.  Put a few things in the truck from my home (bouncing some things back to her that she'd already passed to me).  Then, off to the old place to pack up and move her things.  We got to the new place about 8:45 to find her in bed.  After we unloaded, I whirled around, got things out of boxes and set them out - just out, anywhere.  

She looked so peaceful and content, happy to have a safe space. A home.  And now, her move complete, I can stay home until I'm better and not contagious. 

Today, the sun is shining, the birds are singing, all's right with the world.  

happy happy...

I took Mom to lunch at her new place.  She won't move in til Friday, but we had an advance peek.  The apartment had just been vacated, so she got to see.  The rooms are a bit smaller than her old assisted living place, but since we just got rid of almost all of her furniture, it works out well to have less space to fill up.

The people were lovely.  Elsie agreed to sit with us at a guest table, and though she was pretty quiet, she made an effort to welcome Mom.  Joanne met us in the living room and was funny and friendly.  Mom actually acted like she might play bingo or Rummicube - she liked the people and seemed like she'd be a part of the community.

There were just 28 people in the dining room.  It was peaceful.  People were served food hot, and each table was served about the same time so no one had to eat alone. There was friendly, quiet chatter.

After the meal, we went to sit in the living room, and found a man there. Turned out he was the cook, Mike.  He was in his upper 40s, from Boston, and really funny.  Charmed Mom.  Spent a good part of his career owning restaurants, then came to work for this place 3 years ago.  Loves it.  Recognizes he brings people the last meal they will ever eat, and takes that privilege/responsibility very seriously.  Told Mom she needed to tell him how she likes food - oatmeal with brown sugar, eggs scrambled, dislikes mashed potatoes.  Makes salad with romaine and spinach, not iceberg. Though he's Boston Italian, he has learned how to make meatloaf and Midwest type dishes.  He's a smart-aleck and funny, but respectful. Delightful.

And there's something so comforting, so 'home', about being in a place where the food is welcoming, ample, warm, and familiar.

She repeatedly asked why I didn't find this place three and a half years ago, before she even got into her previous assisted living.

We left content and excited.  Can't wait for Friday.  Will be a challenge ... but totally worth it.

Mom has moved to the nursing home

Mom has moved to the nursing home.

Mom, Marilyn and me

Ah, the passive voice ... "Mom has moved".  Doesn't begin to describe the chaos and labor of the last week.  Before the troops came Friday, I had been sorting, pitching, organizing for a week.  On Friday afternoon, my brother came from a distance on a business trip, and happily was able to pitch in Friday afternoon and the weekend.  My sister and her husband came from 4 hours away and arrived Friday evening, and rented a U-Haul for the move as well as did a tremendous amount of work all weekend.

During the work, we largely ignored Mom Saturday as we went over to her old place at the assisted-living home.  We had boxes for each of us three kids ... sometimes welcomed items, sometimes begrudgingly accepted.

There were piles and piles of things that we just had to send to the trash - the detritus of her life but meaningless to us - such as my father's obsessively copious notes from a 1980's trip to Europe (what was the daily weather, what photos were taken exactly at what locations on each day, indexed by 3-4 different sorting schemes).  Expired food. Shoes that were badly worn.

The shoes touched me.  I recall from a book, The Year of Magical Thinking, that Joan Didion (the author and then a recent widow) was horrified at the idea of throwing away her deceased husband's shoes.  Her irrational thought was, "what if he comes back needs them?"  As I pitched or donated her shoes (pretty, delicate heels, etc) it just felt so enormously sad to think that she wouldn't ever be that woman again.  Same sadness with her art supplies - she's done with those, and off they go.  (Note to readers of this blog - we did bring over to her the pink dresses for her to just look at and remember better days....)

And there were piles for charity donation.  Usable shoes, clothes that no longer fit.  Furniture that was not an 'heirloom'.  Dishes.  Piles.  U-Haul loads of donated items.

Mom in her new home (with my husband on bed)

And of course, the piles of things to go to the nursing home for Mom.  We moved that over, and carefully found places for everything over there in the small area that is now her home.  Her favorite red chair, a chest, a bedside table. An electric bed from hospice, and her wheelchair and walker.  It all fits and feels homey.  Her 'Sleeping Fisherman' painting on the wall made it instantly more homey, more her own Roberta space.

This week I will work on small details like putting more photos on the wall, darkening a too-bright window, changing her mail.  But mostly it's just helping her feel at home, really at home.