On a Monday morning in September my brother, my husband and I go to the Landing at Watermere, where Mom is, to move her to a new facility. I hadn’t seen her for four weeks. The restrictions while COVID-19 is rampant have made it almost impossible to have any physical interaction with her. She was suffering, I knew. I wasn’t going to wait any longer. When I walk in, Mom is not in her room. I go to the dining area where I see her sitting in a wheelchair near the back of the room, staring off into space. I have my mask on and as I approach I say “Hi Mom.” She looks my way. Nothing registers. I pull my mask down as I get closer and recognition floods her face. “Where have you been?” she softly says. In that moment I am completely gutted. I touch her face – I’m here now mom, I’m here. My eyes fill with tears as she reaches for me. I’m so sorry Mom, I should have been here.
We go back to her room as I explain what is going to happen. Mom, we are moving you to a new place. A place where I will be allowed to come see you whenever I want. A place you will be better cared for. A place where Dad can come and sit with you. I promise it will be so much better. She is ecstatic to see my brother and while she doesn’t fully understand what we are doing, she couldn’t be happier to be surrounded by her family. She watches as we pack up her things. We have her cat, Margaret, in a cage by her feet. Every once in awhile the cat meows and Mom starts to look for her. “Where are you sweetie? Are you ok?” Mom, she’s here, right by your feet – see? In this cage. She is going with us, don’t worry. Mom looks down and acknowledges the cat but soon the information is lost again.
I sit with Mom while the men move the furniture. Her friend Luta comes out of her room next door and I say to her “Hi Luta! Mom is leaving today and we will sure miss you.” Luta answers by saying how easy it is to come out and watch the TV. She sits and watches for a few minutes in the TV room across the hall and then wanders back to her room. I sigh. I can see the decline in Luta, too, and it makes me very sad. I don’t know if Luta sees her family or not. I don’t know if they know the impact that COVID -19 is having on her and everyone in this locked down unit.
The place Mom is going to does not have a locked door. The residents – there are only 12 – can come and go as they please. It is in the country with 13 acres and horses across the street. There is a huge covered driveway with rockers and chairs. The residents love to come outside but they don’t go far. Everyone watches out for each other. Some of the residents do not have memory problems but everyone there is treated just the same. No one is behind a locked door meant to keep them in and everyone else out.
Mom and I drive to the new facility, singing songs along the way. It astounds me that she cannot hold a conversation but she can remember the words to, and sing, any song that she knows. She is having a great time, and I’m just happy to be with her again. We stop at Whataburger where Dad with his caregiver are – we say hello across the car windows. I’m not entirely sure Mom realizes it’s Dad – she’s pretty intent on eating her hamburger one piece at a time. She takes it all apart and eats each piece by itself. She makes a huge mess, just like a toddler would. I have to remind her to take a drink of her coke. She no longer runs her tongue across her teeth to clean them while she’s eating – an action we ALL do without thinking about. I find it difficult to be with her while she’s eating because all the things she can no longer do are exemplified. I try to avoid meal times. I don’t want to be hit in the face with her inadequacies.
The room at her new place is so much smaller that we have to leave some of her furniture on the trailer. It doesn’t matter though. Even though the room is small I am sure the care will be better. The dining and multi-use room is only a few steps away. You can always find a caregiver – at the old place I would wander the halls looking for someone and never find anyone. The men are busy trying to put together a dresser that turns out to be a POS. So I take Mom with me when it’s time to go pick up Baby Girl from school. She’s been in the car a lot today but you can tell she doesn’t mind – she’s just happy to be with me.
When we get back to the room my brother has to leave. Baby Girl and I take Mom into her room so she can finally see it. She seems pleased with it. She plays with Baby Girl who is hiding behind the shower curtain. Mom laughs when she jumps out and says Boo! The time has come to leave Mom there but I feel reassured that the staff will care lovingly for her. Her room is nice – cozy with all the pictures of family and roses that she loves. I notice that all her expensive toiletries are missing. I didn’t buy this Suave shampoo. I would never buy that. Mom uses John Frieda! I am appalled as I realize that her shampoos and lotions and soaps have been taken – stolen – by someone at the old facility. Chances are it never made it up to her room from when I had to drop it all off at the front desk in enticing Target bags. I am burning with rage but there’s nothing I can do. I’ll buy it all again so Mom will have HER stuff that she’s always used and loved.
That night I sleep better than I have in a long time. My mom is closer to me, and in good hands, and I’ll be able to see her again soon. She won’t think that she has been forgotten and abandoned. She will know that I am still here, still loving her, still her champion and her advocate. She will never again have to say “where have you been?”
I am here, Mom, right here with you. Always.
