Mom has been in a local nursing home for three days now. Yesterday I stopped over at Mom’s empty apartment. She needed me to do a few things for her: deposit some checks, pay the bills, check her mail. When I got there, I also found three loads of laundry that needed to be done, a fridge that needed to be cleaned out and a bathroom that needed cleaning.
I hadn’t been planning to spend the afternoon, but I started the laundry (in two separate laundry rooms on two different floors) and got to work on the rest of the list.
In my travels through the building, I stopped at the main office to give them the update on Mom. They wanted to know if Mom wanted to be moved to their skilled nursing facility (a half-hour away on a different campus) when a bed opened up.
I’ll check, I replied.
Also, the campus director reminded me that they still had a studio apartment available in assisted living. We’d turned it down once, but that was before Mom’s last two hospitalizatons.
I was more than ready to take it, but I knew Mom wasn’t ready to move—OR to spend the extra money.
She suggested that perhaps we use it as “respite:” Mom could stay there for a month after she returned from the nursing home, and then move back to her independent apartment when she was stronger.
Interesting, I said. It sounded like a good option to me. I’ll run it past everyone, I replied.
I left the office feeling hopeful that maybe my life could get back to some version of normal….