Letting Go Just a Little Bit

The last few times I've been to visit my mom at her new place, she's been sitting at a table with "Mr. Tom."  Just the two of them.  As I approach, it's hard to tell what they're talking about or, really, what they're doing.  But as I sit down, my mom seems relatively content and I guess that's what is important.

To get some alone time with her, I wheel her away in her wheelchair - after saying goodbye to Mr. Tom - and we leave Aspen Arbor to go look at the aquarium in the sitting area or just to relax in the sun room.  Sometimes, when it's nice, we sit outside the front entrance.  Usually, after a few minutes, she starts to get a little bit anxious and wants to return to the more familiar surroundings of Aspen Arbor (though she doesn't call it that, of course), and we do.

Yesterday, I ran down to see her in between the boys' basketball games.  Joe played at 8 a.m. and J.P. played at 11 a.m.  After exchanging greetings with Mr. Tom, I wheeled her out of Aspen Arbor and into the library.  I've discovered it's a nice, quiet place to sit for a few minutes.  Books line the built in bookshelves, although it doesn't appear that many of the books are ever removed and read.  I could be wrong about that, though.  As we talked quietly and I made my mom laugh - something I'm still able to do - a National Geographic magazine sitting on the table caught her eye, so I handed it to her.  She thumbed through it was we reminisced about all of the National Geographic magazines we used to have at the house.  I smiled wistfully as she commented on some of the pictures in the magazine.

We said our goodbyes a few minutes later after I asked one of the caregivers to help her transfer so she could go to the bathroom.  She's struggling with incontinence issues and she's too weak transfer from the wheelchair to the commode herself without falling.  For the first time in a while, she was disappointed I was leaving and a little mad that I wouldn't take her to J.P.'s basketball game.  It made me more than a little sad, as I drove back to Nashville, to think that she likely would never see my sons play sports again.

Throughout the day, I reflected on our most recent visits and how something with my mom seemed to have changed lately.  It's been gnawing at my subconscious mind the last week or two.  When my sister, Tracy, and I talked on the telephone last night, she said something that brought things into focus for me.

"Mom doesn't really need us as much as she did."

I let those words sink in for a minute, then nodded to myself and told her I think she's right.  And I do.

The "why" is what I went to sleep last night and awoke this morning puzzling over.  Why doesn't my mom need us as much as she did?

Certainly, she's living in a better place, one more suited to her needs.  Aspen Arbor at NHC Place is just a better fit for her than Maristone.  Now, that may well be because she is in memory care now, which is simply where she needs to be.  The caregiver-patient ratio is lower, there are more planned activities and her apartment is smaller.  She's rarely alone in her room, at least when I go to see her.  At Maristone, she was always alone in her room.  I think that made her a lot more lonely.

She's made a friend or two, especially Mr. Tom.  While I don't understand the relationship and I have no idea what the two of them talk about, I'm comforted by the fact that she appears to be content and at ease sitting and talking with him.  Yesterday, one of the caregiver told me my mom still believes she's working as a nurse, so it may be that she thinks she's taking care of Mr. Tom.  That makes sense, because above all else, my mom always took care of others professionally and personally.

So, maybe she's just more comfortable at NHC Place.  Maybe that's why she doesn't need us as much as she did.

On the other hand, there's the very real possibility that my mom's mental state has gradually deteriorated to the point that she's lost, or at least losing, the ability to connect with us on an emotional level.  That, of course, make me very, very sad.  If true, it's further evidence that we're losing her and that our time with her while she still has some vestiges of her true personality is limited.  Maybe very limited.

It's a bit of a paradox, for me, anyway.  Selfishly, I'm glad it's easier to leave my mom when a visit is over.  I feel a little better - okay, a lot better - that she's relatively content and getting good care when we're not around.  Conversely, it seems like we're headed to a place where my mom is not going to be able to express her love for us in any normal, customary way.  And that's going to be hard to take, I think.

It's a lot to process and I lot to think about, for sure.