Back To The Fam

My mother has outlived herself. She was doing just fine until one day over a year ago, at age 91, when she lost her balance and tumbled to the floor and into a wonderland of frustration, pain and dementia. She will never walk, cut up her own food or think straight again (but she still insists on doing her own makeup every day. That’s my mom!)

Though she’s in a first rate memory care facility, my brother and his wife visit almost daily and try to help her slog through the muddy mire that harbors her new reality. I am realizing more and more just how heroic they are.

As I take my turn at bat next week, I feel the weight of the game on my shoulders and wonder just how long the nine innings will last. It’s hard to stay positive when you know this is one game you are not going to win.

 I’ll be temporarily leaving my new house and my new Irish life behind. I’m so happy Dixie can come with me this time. The routine has been set for the last couple of years: Fly into Tampa, visit with friends and family for a few days then drive the grueling 500 miles to my brother’s house in Georgia, just a few miles from my mother. He and his family will, ironically, be in Florida for a family vacation. We’ll spend a day or two with them at the beach before the long drive.

I never know exactly what to expect when I walk into my mother’s room at the “home”. She is well tended physically, having saved her pennies most of her adult life anticipating the need for quality geriatric care, which doesn’t come cheap. She always said she didn't want to be a burden to us and she never has been. It's one of the best gifts she ever gave us... Thank you, Mama.

Her own mother, my Gram, was not so shrewd nor thoughtful. She spent ten years in a public nursing home that was the essence of the proverbial hell hole. My mother and aunt took turns visiting, trying to track down stolen goods and clean up the messes they found Gram in. It was a nightmare for my mother and I think that oppressive, urine scented room was the Bible she swore on when she declared that would never happen to her. That’s when she started saving.

Mostly she greets me with cheer when I arrive but doesn’t seem too excited to see me. It’s as if I go there every day. Some days she sleeps almost all day and other days she’s awake and lucid the whole afternoon.

The last visit, when Dixie wasn’t with me, I encountered the tooth fairy situation. Suddenly my mother started denying that her dentures fit in her mouth, and she was certain there was a nurse stealing teeth and replacing them with…. I guess we could call them changeling teeth, like when the fairies steal a human baby and leave a changeling in its place. She begged me to call the police.

After days of trying to reason with her (“yes, Mama, these ARE your teeth!”) and trying to cram them in her mouth (gently, okay?) and even having staff members assist to no avail, I finally admitted defeat and asked the head nurse for help. To my utter shock, she confirmed that the teeth we had in hand (eww) were indeed NOT my mother’s. What? 

Much to everyone’s relief, we found my mother’s teeth in a dish stuck way back under the bathroom sink. My mother was vindicated and I was just puzzled. There should be more TV mysteries set against the backdrop of nursing homes. The wonders never cease.

Vermeer Reunion in June

So for the next two weeks I’ll be catching up with my American life. My son is flying in to Florida from Dallas, we’ll all be at the beach together, then in Georgia I’ll see, not just my mother, but other family and friends. I missed a reunion with the Vermeers and my children last week, and the photos they all posted made me homesick. Can’t imagine how I’ll feel come October when I become a granny for the first time.

I know I can’t have it all, living in two places. I wish I could be there every time the family gathers. I wish I could be there through the coming years to teach my grands how to read and annoy their parents with Irish jigs and reels. I wish I could be there to escort my mother through these final, often dramatic days of her life. We have to make peace with our choices, especially it seems, in later life. And we also have to make peace with the struggle to make peace. It’s just the way it is.

For the record, I’m spending my money like mad, because I know my children will support me in style in my old age, teeth or no teeth. Right? LOL