Saying Goodbye to New Friends Who Became Old Friends

Yesterday, Tracy, Alice and I had a meeting at NHC Place to discuss transitioning my mom from Aspen Arbor to the Courtyard.  This will be her third move in the past 16+ months, not ideal for someone with Alzheimer's, but unavoidable given her rapid decline physically.

Tracy and Alice also saw the room into which we're going to move mom.  We agreed it needs some work to be ready for her, things like painting, switching out the dresser, repairing a closet door and resurfacing the floor.  NHC Place was encouraging us to move her in immediately and wanted me to sign the contract, so she could immediately begin paying of the room.  We felt rushed because we were being rushed.

After we left, the three of us spoke and agreed for me to send an e-mail with a list of the work we wanted to be done before we moved mom into the room.  I sent the e-mail, then spent the morning on the telephone or e-mailing with NHC administrators in an effort to sort everything out.  It was a bit of a delicate balance because I did not want mom to lose the private room.  At the same time, the new room will be her home - maybe her last home - so it needs to be "move-in ready" and she doesn't need to be paying for it until it is.

Ultimately, I think we reached a resolution and the work we requested is going to be done, hopefully by Monday.  One thing I have learned about assisted living facilities as we've been on this journey with mom is that the squeaky wheel gets oiled, and it gets oiled first.  If you don't advocate, strongly, for your loved one - who likely doesn't have a voice - he or she will not get the best care available.  Sometimes - hell, most times -  you simply cannot take "no" for an answer.

I joked with Tracy and Alice in a text that it seems like, as a rule, I'm the War Department, Tracy is the State Department and Alice is the Department of the Interior.  Or something like that.

Circling back to what's on my mind this afternoon, I asked about Mr. Tom when we visited the Courtyard to look at mom's new room.  I wondered if he was there or, if not, if he had been moved upstairs to long-term care.  I was told that he had died a couple of weeks ago.  Apparently, after he left Aspen Arbor and moved briefly into the Courtyard, he continued to decline rapidly.  He was moved upstairs and dies shortly thereafter.

A couple of weeks ago, I received an e-mail from Cynthia Beck, a friend we had made while mom was at Maristone.  Her mother-in-law, Ms. Charlotte, moved into Maristone the same day mom did back in November 2017.  That seems like a lifetime ago, for so many different reasons.

Ms. Charlotte was mom's breakfast/lunch/dinner table companion, which was helpful, because I quickly learned that no one should sit with the wrong group in the dining hall.  It was like junior high school all over again and Ms. Charlotte was a great comfort to mom at time when she was unsure of herself as she tried to adjust to new surroundings for the first time in 46 years.  The other ladies weren't too nice to mom, at least at first, and for a time, she was scared and anxious about eating meals in the dining hall.  It was heartbreaking to see mom so timid and afraid.  She and Ms. Charlotte immediately hit it off - both were from Jackson, Tennessee - and they share almost every meal together.  

Cynthia and her family shared most of our concerns about the care at Maristone and we communicated regularly in an effort to improve things there, even after we moved mom to NHC Place.  Charlotte's health took a turn not too long after mom left Maristone in October 2017 and she was hospitalized.  She died, ironically enough, in NHC Place where she was rehabilitating, about two weeks ago.

I called Cynthia yesterday and told her how sorry I was and how much I had enjoyed getting to talk to and know, just a little bit, Ms. Charlotte.  She was a sweet lady, in a wheel chair all of the time, which is exactly where mom is now.  Too much irony in my life today.

It's strange, the way as family member of a loved one who is in an assisted living facility, you form bonds so quickly with other residents and their families.  I think the intensity of the bond is due in part because we're all trying to navigate uncharted waters.  Also, we're all dealing with this tangled mess of emotions as we face what is in all likelihood a completely hopeless situation.  We're all angry, sad, confused, anxious, scared, nostalgic, depressed, worried, resigned and, at rare times, happy.

Then, suddenly, someone dies and their family disappears from your life forever.  It's strange, for sure.

Ms. Charlotte and Mr. Tom were friends to my mom, separately, at times when she really needed a friend.  I'll never forget that and I'll never forget them.  God bless you both.