Room in Our Minds
I greeted the social worker at my mother’s door yesterday afternoon and realized this was not the same woman who visited us last year, but she quickly put my mind at ease. Like the last one, this woman was warm and knew how to talk to my mother without seeming condescending. She didn’t know Mom, but looked at her when she spoke to her, ensuring she was better understood. Unlike last year, I was more relaxed. Although I had allowed myself to fret over the visit after our big celebration Thursday night, at least I knew what to expect.
But it was more than that. Gone was the clutter between me and my mother that last year was as thick as the dust that gathered on too many of her things that surrounded us in a home she could no longer care for.
The physical clutter was absent for sure, but also gone was the mental clutter and the sense of being overwhelmed I felt this time last year. Overwhelmed at home, having just lost a beloved senior dog we dearly loved. Overwhelmed by a house I struggle to keep clean with 3 dogs, 2 cats and a husband who has a pack-rat mentality that even outdoes me and my mother’s. Overwhelmed by keeping up my writing business while marketing a book. Finally, I was overwhelmed with my mother’s care, which all of a sudden included her not being able to walk or get out of her home on her own. It was a split-level duplex and she had fallen not once, but twice last autumn. And with that clutter, came the sense of regret for backing down from an earlier move and the guilt of not being able to keep up on the chores in her home.
It was a juggling act and I felt as though I was losing control of all of the balls.
Although unspoken between us, gone from the clutter of my mother’s mind was her fears that she was going to a nursing home. The social worker last year tried to explain that she could still live independently in a clean, safe environment sans stairs. But the mental images of being placed in a nursing home and left alone without any visitors overwhelmed her. I told her she could live with me, but the social worker discouraged that because we have the same split level floor plan in our house that she had in her duplex – with less square footage – and just as much physical clutter.
If it wasn’t a nursing home or mine, she knew where she would go and the idea of living in subsidized housing made her shutter.
Also gone was the clutter of a serious physical injury that kept her off her feet for nearly 5 months last year, the clutter of losing control of your life plays terrible havoc with your mind.
Yesterday, we sat in the building subsidized by the government where many of her neighbors from our small community are her neighbors again. With the exception of having to put a ring on her door before bed and remove it in the morning to signal she is alright, she is still completely independent. She has a tidy apartment that is cleaned by a woman my mother truly enjoys visiting with once a week. Instead of being sequestered in a dark, unkempt home, she can grab her walker and head down to the lobby of her building to get her mail and visit with others when she feels those tinges of loneliness. She can get herself down to the beauty shop once a week and have her hair done for a price workable into her budget. Although she has yet to do it, she has the option of church in the building on Sundays or vespers on Thursdays. There are crafts, dances and parties.
And she is still close enough for me to bring her home-cooked meals.
Yesterday when the social worker asked her to remember words and phrases or place hands on a paper clock to test her mental faculties, she shook her head and made jokes instead of yelling. The social worker and I both had tears by the end of the session, but they were from laughter, not anger. And when the social worker asked me if I felt overwhelmed with her care, I could truly answer, “No, not at this moment.”
A new sense of place, sans the stairs and clutter.
But it was more than that. Gone was the clutter between me and my mother that last year was as thick as the dust that gathered on too many of her things that surrounded us in a home she could no longer care for.
The physical clutter was absent for sure, but also gone was the mental clutter and the sense of being overwhelmed I felt this time last year. Overwhelmed at home, having just lost a beloved senior dog we dearly loved. Overwhelmed by a house I struggle to keep clean with 3 dogs, 2 cats and a husband who has a pack-rat mentality that even outdoes me and my mother’s. Overwhelmed by keeping up my writing business while marketing a book. Finally, I was overwhelmed with my mother’s care, which all of a sudden included her not being able to walk or get out of her home on her own. It was a split-level duplex and she had fallen not once, but twice last autumn. And with that clutter, came the sense of regret for backing down from an earlier move and the guilt of not being able to keep up on the chores in her home.
It was a juggling act and I felt as though I was losing control of all of the balls.
Although unspoken between us, gone from the clutter of my mother’s mind was her fears that she was going to a nursing home. The social worker last year tried to explain that she could still live independently in a clean, safe environment sans stairs. But the mental images of being placed in a nursing home and left alone without any visitors overwhelmed her. I told her she could live with me, but the social worker discouraged that because we have the same split level floor plan in our house that she had in her duplex – with less square footage – and just as much physical clutter.
If it wasn’t a nursing home or mine, she knew where she would go and the idea of living in subsidized housing made her shutter.
Also gone was the clutter of a serious physical injury that kept her off her feet for nearly 5 months last year, the clutter of losing control of your life plays terrible havoc with your mind.
Yesterday, we sat in the building subsidized by the government where many of her neighbors from our small community are her neighbors again. With the exception of having to put a ring on her door before bed and remove it in the morning to signal she is alright, she is still completely independent. She has a tidy apartment that is cleaned by a woman my mother truly enjoys visiting with once a week. Instead of being sequestered in a dark, unkempt home, she can grab her walker and head down to the lobby of her building to get her mail and visit with others when she feels those tinges of loneliness. She can get herself down to the beauty shop once a week and have her hair done for a price workable into her budget. Although she has yet to do it, she has the option of church in the building on Sundays or vespers on Thursdays. There are crafts, dances and parties.
And she is still close enough for me to bring her home-cooked meals.
Yesterday when the social worker asked her to remember words and phrases or place hands on a paper clock to test her mental faculties, she shook her head and made jokes instead of yelling. The social worker and I both had tears by the end of the session, but they were from laughter, not anger. And when the social worker asked me if I felt overwhelmed with her care, I could truly answer, “No, not at this moment.”
A new sense of place, sans the stairs and clutter.
posted by Kerri Fivecoat-Campbell at 5:24 AM
1 Comments:
Here's to you and everyone who has been through this stage of life -- who has had periods of great stress and concern when there is an accident or illness, periods of relieve when it has been overcome, and chronic unease in between, waiting for the next "something" to happen. Just don't get discouraged when you can perform miracles all the time.
Post a Comment
<< Home