It is Sunday night, Tom and I have just driven in from New Jersey where we visited my mom who is living in an assisted living facility. I surprised her Friday evening as she sat at the family style table waiting for dinner with the other women who don’t know each other’s names, each of them sitting with their heads down and eyes closed. I tell myself they were meditating, at least I hope they are, otherwise it is just too sad to bear. (Note to self…when I am 88, sitting at a table of close strangers, I will be meditating.)
Saturday we took her to lunch. Afterward we drove around Newton, the nearby town where she grew up. She wasn’t sure who I was when I surprised her Friday night, but she knew how to find her families homestead pointing out whose window was whose
bedroom, where the garage used to be and which hills they went sleigh riding on. She said she felt free as we drove around. That getting out was the shot in the arm she needed. When she said it I felt grateful I could give her that. As I write it now, my eyes begin to sting.
At 3 o’clock Tom and I met with a realtor to prepare to sell the family home I grew up in. Mom is gracefully letting go of her hope to return there, comforting herself (and me) with statements of being treated well by the staff at Bentley followed by the food there is not half bad.
Throw in an nasty encounter with my very aggressive brother and the weekend was complete. And I am exhausted. I thought I would have the stamina to post a witty piece while Tom took his turn at the wheel, but I just mostly sat and stared.
So this is it for this week my dear ones.
I don’t want to get old. I don’t want my daughter to have to help me in the handicap stall of a restaurant holding me up while pulling down my adult diapers. Mom and I accomplished this gracefully and sweetly however, joking about her sexy under ware and holding each other more closely than was necessary for the job at hand.