A new chapter for us all

I'm compelled to write this morning, though I know that my thoughts have yet to settle enough to be able to express what I'm feeling today.  Yesterday, Tom and I worked tirelessly all day to move forward with mom's placement.  We had some trouble getting her doctor to fax the orders to the care facility, as the doctor's office has notoriously been unhelpful, and even seemed at times to want to punish us for needing help.  In the end, Tom drove to the doctor's office and waited for the orders to be placed in his hands so that we could meet the director of the care center at 3 p.m.

The time before then was spent in a variety of tasks.  I got mommy cleaned up first thing, then again a couple of hours later.  We shared a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch, though my stomach was in knots.  I was afraid of the task in front of me, and Tom shared my concerns.  I took the picture above as we got ready, mom and Tom out back on the bench.  Brother Mike asked not to be included in the day's activities, so we were left to help mom transition ourselves.  I packed a bag for mom, a couple of changes of clothes, Depends, socks, toothbrush, meds.  At 12:30 I gave mom an anti-anxiety pill, and at 1:30 another.  And an hour later, off we went.

The events leading up to the eventual placement were nerve-wracking, mom and I stopped at the local dairy isle and I got her a chocolate cone in a cup, which she relished as she always does.  We needed to give Tom time to go get the orders from the doctor, then meet us at the care facility.  Once there, mom got out of the car calmly enough, refused to sit in a wheelchair, and instead accompanied me inside.  I had told her I was there to see MY doctor, and asked her to come in with me.  We were lead to room 405, and we sat on the bed in a very cheerful room, beautiful pink blanket, birdfeeders right outside the window.  After a few minutes, one of the admissions staff came in with a fuzzy little pomeranian (sp) pup.  While mom's attention was on the pup, the admissions director came in to say my doctor would see me now.  And I left.  I got as far as around the corner with Denette, who is the most compassionate and capable and caring person I've ever met in my life, before I stopped stock-sill and the tears flowed.  I couldn't speak.  Denette took me in hand and urged me to continue down the hall until we reached a conference room.  Tom went outside to get mom's bag, then joined us for about an hour's worth of paperwork.  And that was that.  I went to Tom's afterward and helped him make dinner for the kids, then came home, all in kind of a stupor. 

Butterball and I sat on the front step for a couple of hours just thinking (well, Butter was chasing lightning bugs and eating grass).  At about 9, my across-the-street neighbor Kim came over and handed me a belated birthday present - a book called The Dash.  If you've not read it, you should.  It's about the time between your date of birth and date of death - represented by a dash on your tombstone.  And Kim provided more than birthday wishes, but also a hug and a shoulder and support until I felt like I was ready to head upstairs for a much needed rest.  Butter and I slept like little logs.  This morning has me feeling like my whole life has changed.  I'm far from done with mommy.  In fact, I think now that the biggest struggles are over for us, we'll have a much better relationship.  Mommy is with people now in a social situation.  There are experienced staffers who are free with smiles and hugs for her, and who will see that she transitions well.  I'm going to call later to see how her first night went, and I join with Tom in being optomistic that she will adapt well.

OK, enough for now, but I'll keep you up to date as we progress.  I leave you with mommy and her chocolate ice cream.  Thanks friends for reading and for loving me.