So Long, Mr. Tom

Not too long ago but, in some ways, a lifetime ago, my mom became friends with Mr. Tom, another residence of Aspen Arbor at NHC Place.  For a time, my mom and Mr. Tom seemed to latch on to one another, like two new kids in school.  There's no way to know for sure, of course, but I think making friends with Mr. Tom settled my mom and perhaps eased her transition from Maristone to NHC Place.

For a time, whenever I stopped by my mom and Mr. Tom were almost always sitting at one of the dining room tables together, talking or just sitting quietly.  I think by giving her someone to feel she was taking care of, Mr. Tom helped my mom find her footing a little bit and rekindled a tiny part of her soul that makes her who she is - a caregiver to all.  Her children and grandchildren, first and foremost.  Her family.  Her friends.  And, her patients in her work as a nurse.  She always seemed to be looking out for him, trying to share her food with him, especially when I brought her cookies, donuts, etc.

There even were occasions when I stopped by to see her and because she was so engrossed in a conversation with Mr. Tom - not in the traditional sense - that I left without talking to her.  She seemed relatively happy and content talking or sitting with him and I didn't want to screw that up by interrupting the two of them.  It was a bit of a weird feeling.  I remember thinking that it felt a little bit like my mom didn't need us as much, since she had become friends with Mr. Tom.

They always ate together, sometimes the two of them and sometimes with one or two others at a table of four.  I often wondered who my mom really thought Mr. Tom was because she never said anything to me about it.  She might have thought he was her husband or maybe our longtime next door neighbor and one of her best friends, Mr. Gilley, with whom she spend many a morning or afternoon in the 80's and early 90's, drinking coffee at our kitchen table.

Last weekend, I noticed Mr. Tom seemed paler and weaker when I visited and sat down at a table with my mom and him.  He wasn't as communicative, which is saying something because he never said a lot other than to always warmly smile and return my greetings.  I wondered if he was sick.

Yesterday morning, when I visited my mom, Mr. Tom was nowhere to be seen.  I asked Alicia, the nurse, about him and she confirmed he had been transferred to a skilled care unit at NHC Place.  Mr. Tom fell earlier in the week and was briefly hospitalized.  When they brought him back, he wasn't eating or drinking much either.  Transferring him was a good move for him and his family, and I'm going to say a prayer for him tonight.

So long, Mr. Tom.  Thank you for being a friend to my mom when she needed one the most.

This journey into the world of Alzheimer's disease that we're on with my mom is such a strange one.  At time like this, when I'm not held hostage my emotions and what feels like the injustice of it all, the rational part of my mind is intellectually curious about how the puzzle of her life fits together.  Yes, the fact that it's a journey of no return for my mom is heart breaking.  Still and all, it is a journey we're all on together.  And what's the purpose of a journey if you don't take some time along the way to look at your surroundings and spend a little time in the towns you're passing through.

"It's not the destination, it's the journey."  Ralph Waldo Emerson.