Last night was a virtual carbon copy of the night before. I came home to a house buzzing with activity - cable guys in the den and back bedroom, SMF at work in the kitchen, and The Mother relaxing at the kitchen table with a book of crosswords. It seems she was just waiting for me to join her at the table with a glass of wine. :)  It appears that my early predictions of myself as a sort of cocktail hostess are panning out. I'm going to have to pick up a crafty project like tatting or knitting so that I can still get stuff accomplished during our chatty time.

We're learning where the hot button issues lie. The Mother was not pleased to have cable TV in her bedroom - it's an extravagance. She's right, I've always felt that bedrooms are for sleeping and other horizontal activities. TV should be a separate activity with clearly defined parameters, not an ongoing backdrop to real life. However, sometimes The Mother takes a "sick day" and doesn't leave her bed. On those days she'll find it useful to have cable in her bedroom, I'm sure of it. None of this made any impact on her, so the next time she brought it up (it's about a 20 minute conversational loop) we just told her the Charter guys were "fixing" the TV. She still thinks TV in the bedroom is extravagant but was willing to concede that if it's already there (it is) that it should at least work (and now it does). Unfortunately, after the cable guys left I turned off the TV in the den and now we cannot figure out how to turn it back on. The DVD player is working, but we cannot seem to watch cable. And now the wireless is out, too. Sigh. Nothing is ever straightforward. (1st World Problems, FTW).

I'm a bit surprised at my own complacency about this entire arrangement. After weeks of fretting over every possible thing that could go wrong, I feel like we've slipped effortlessly into our new blended family as if these roles have been our lifelong habit rather than a recent innovation. I suppose that, for me, it's really just a matter of having The Mother to dinner every night. I still get up, go to work, visit the gym, and tend to my regular activities. Then I come home and have a glass of wine while SMF makes dinner. We talk, we eat, we drink, then The Mother goes to bed and we do whatever we do until heading to bed ourselves. It's really not much different from our before time. 

For SMF, however, it's a bit different. He spend each day this week driving The Mother to doctors appointments, picking up prescriptions, cleaning up after the cats (more on this later), and helping The Mother arrange her things. He's basically a personal assistant to an 80ish lady whose physical limits make her a bit testy at times. He will only leave the house for work one day this week. The rest of his time is one long quiet stretch home alone with his mom and the cats. She naps a lot, so it's not like they're forced into constant company, but still. You can kinda feel the stillness and hear the clock ticking away. It's dull. I'm worried his world will narrow into a tight corridor of depression. I suppose it's my primary task to see that depression doesn't take hold. I kinda feel like a geisha - I keep people entertained. Let's play a drinking game!

Day 1: The Arrival

The Mother came home yesterday. It was nice. She woke from her snooze around 5pm and we had cocktails. She regaled me with stories from her youth while Special Man Friend made dinner. This was the earliest we have eaten dinner all year. I think I'm going to enjoy our new schedule.

The Mother told me about nursing school in the 40s, dating medical students, taking classes, going to frat parties, etc. I hope to draw her out more on that subject in the coming months. While in nursing school in Toronto she noticed one of the maternity ward patients was an unmarried high school classmate giving birth. The Mother asked the nun in charge of that ward to transfer her to another ward so the patient wouldn't notice someone she knew working in the hospital. While my first thought was that the young mother would be comforted by a familiar face, The Mother had to explain that in the 40s, this young patient was hoping to hide her pregnancy and birth from everyone she knew. The Mother was doing her a kindness by not intruding on her classmate, not making that young woman deal with the fact that someone knew her secret. It was a different world.

Not all of The Mother's stories are sad. She also told me about being set up on a date with her future husband. Apparently her girlfriend described Bill as a "Greek god" who needed to be taken down a peg or two. So The Mother, herself somewhat of a hot commodity, set out to humble the Adonis and ended up in love with the kindest, least conceited demigod ever to grace SLU's campus. He took her out for a beer, because that's all anyone could afford. There was a famous local singer who everyone went to see, Flo May Sharp(?). Her voice was so entrancing that no one talked while she sang, they just sat, enraptured, until she was done. They never went dancing. I expect to hear this story frequently.

In between tales of days gone by, The Mother would comment on the new furniture in her house, and occasionally ask about her cat and plans for the next day. It was impossible to miss the fact that she was unsure of the nature of our presence in her home. Were we visiting? Were we spending the night? Would Special Man Friend be returning in the morning? Which room were we in? Which room was she in? Later in the evening I asked him if she knew I'd be spending the night. His response: I don't think so.

At one point she decided to walk back to a bedroom - there was something in her suitcase she wanted to show me. I asked her if I should come with her and she said no. Special Man Friend, meanwhile, is gesturing at me to get up and follow The Mother down the hallway. I shrugged and he followed on his own then returned, admonishing me that the hallway is long and we should watch her. This is the sort of thing we're going to have to work out. That hallway IS long. But she clearly stated that she didn't want company. So what is the right thing to do? Follow her around all day like a pesky, unwanted shadow? I don't think so. Leave her to her own devices? Man Friend was right, she might very well forget what she was doing in the bedroom in the first place and it is a very long way for a wobbly walker. My general take on it is, So what? We can't, and shouldn't, stop her from moving around - it's good for her. We can, and should, keep tabs on where she is but there's no need to pester the lady. And frankly, her mobility was about as good today as I've ever witnessed.

It's All So Very Brown, Isn't It?

So, this new house, The Mother's house, is only new to me. To everyone else, it's been the Mother's House since 1973. It's a typical 1969 ranch style upscale suburban house. Upscale for 1969, that is. It's very brown, the rooms are low and boxy. There's carpet everywhere. But here's the thing that's killing me - It is very much like the brown suburban ranch house in which I spent my teens. We moved in when I was 9. There was some truly hideous carpet in the family room. The exact same truly hideous carpet is now gracing my "new" bedroom floor. Oh sure, there are some differences. The kitchen is bigger. The layout is swapped. But the important things remain the same. Both houses had a living and dining room that were open to each other and are effectively unused. Both homes have a long hallway of bedrooms. Both homes are graced with brown cedar woodwork and casement windows. Both homes have a backyard deck in some need of repair. Both homes are presided over by someone else. This isn't my house, but it is a suspiciously similar version of my own mother's house.

They say you cannot go home again, but my Special Man Friend is doing just that. He's comfortably set up in his childhood bedroom (they moved in when he was 8). Fortunately the variegated orange/brown tone carpeting is the only relic from those boyish days. This bedroom is exactly the same as my bedroom as a girl. The door/window/closet alignment is the same. The bed is in the same spot. The nightstand is just where it should be. The dresser & vanity are swapped, but it's essentially the same room. I haven't woken up in that room since I was nineteen, but here I am - every morning - waking up in the surroundings of my teens. It's been surreal. Factor in the imminent transition from lady of the house to member of the household and we have all the storytelling trappings of a horrible groundhog day style nightmare. I think I'm really frightened of finding myself subordinated to the whims of another person. Somehow living in this replica of the scene of my transition from child to adult is placing me back in that mental space. I'm not in charge of this household. I have trouble finding motivation to do simple things. It's like I'm waiting for someone to tell me to do the dishes.

Dementia is really just a one sided conversation held over the course of years.

Mom, you are coming home after your cataract surgeries.

Mom, your surgery is this morning.

What do mean you had coffee and a doughnut for breakfast? Now you cannot have the surgery.

Yes, they really are refusing to operate with food in your system. No, you really cannot talk them out of that.

No, you cannot come home until after your surgeries - you're effectively blind until then!

No, we cannot just reschedule for tomorrow. We've waited 4 weeks for this surgery appointment. Now you just have to wait again.

No, finding a new doctor will not, in fact, speed up this process.

Your surgery is on the 19th. That's two weeks. That's 14 days from now. It's soon.

Mom, your surgery is this morning.

Good, you didn't eat or drink anything, let's get your eye fixed.

Oh, good, your right eye is clear and you can see again!

Yes, of course your left eye is blurry - it still has a cataract.

Yes, I did tell you that you had cataracts in both eyes. Yes, the doctor did, too.

Your next surgery is scheduled in three weeks. No we cannot do it sooner.

No, you cannot come home until after your surgery - your are effectively blind until then.

Yes, I understand that you want to come home and clean house before anyone comes over.

I really don't think you personally need to vacuum the rugs and make the beds. I will do it. I can vacuum. I can make the beds.

Yes, I understand that you're ready to move now.

No, I don't think it's necessary to start moving you out yet. You move home on Monday. Next Monday. 5 days from now. Fine, I'll just take this basket of things to the house.

No, we're not moving today. We're moving on Monday, after your surgery. The surgery for your cataract, in your left eye. Yes, that's why it's blurry. Yes, you're having surgery. On Monday. Today is Wednesday. Your surgery is on Monday. That's 5 days. Five days from today. I'll just tell you the day before.

Oh, your arm is hurting? The arm you broke? Yes, the arm you broke last year? When you fell? When your arm broke and you had to come here to the nursing home for physical therapy. Yes, you broke that arm. Yes you did. No, I'm not making this up. Your arm was broken. So you've put in a call to the doctor? For your aching arm. Oh, so you think they might not let you go home until we figure out why your arm hurts so much. Oh, I see.

Decisions Are Hard!

I do not advise you to do this.
You're such a good person.
You're a good sport.
You're crazy.
You're a good woman.
Thank you.
Why are you doing this?
Do you have any idea what you're getting into?
Good for you!
Sell your house.
Don't sell your house.
This is a great opportunity for you.
This is a beautiful gift to her.
I want to thank you for the torment I know you're going to receive.
You're going to be fine.
Everyone used to do this.
We'll all be doing this soon.
But what about your hobbies/activities/furniture/house/car/free time/independence/time off/privacy/sanity?

It's your service. Everyone has periods of service. Some services are better than others. Good for you, this is a blessing, really.

It's going to be ok. These are the people who taught us how to behave. They know how to behave. 

In June 2013, over the course of many tortured, awkward conversations and at least one full on drunken bender, my boyfriend and I decided to move into his mother's home. With her. Like all really big decisions, this one was made for a host of reasons and no small amount of soul searching. The Mother is in her mid eighties, frail and experiencing some dementia. She cannot live alone. In fact, she has been in residence at a local nursing home since a fall last August when her arm was broken (more on this later). Her children, friends, doctors and caregivers all agree that she doesn't require nursing care but cannot live alone. She isn't strong or mobile enough for assisted living, but isn't infirm enough to merit round the clock nursing care. She needs to go home, but not alone. The thing is, The Mother falls. And she's older and her bones are brittle and her skin is like tissue paper and her cat is always underfoot and she cannot get up off the floor and she cannot live alone. It's a recipe for disaster. So she's been unhappily languishing in an upscale nursing home for just over 13 months and she's miserable. And when she's miserable - her loved ones are miserable. Have you ever been to visit a resident at one of these homes? Have you done that 3-6 times a week for 13 months? It get's old. Let me tell you. Try living in one, even a nice one, and you'll grow to hate it in a few days.

So we're moving in to her home and bringing her home on Monday to our new blended family circle complete with a Mother, son, son's +1, 3 cats, and an in/out 20ish college student. I'm the son's +1. My status in the household is... tenuous. I'm not a daughter or even a daughter in law. I'm just the girlfriend. But I'm the girlfriend who moved out of the most adorable little country cottage and 20 miles away from my friends and social life so that the son can care for his mother. So that's not nothing. But the mechanics of the situation are weird. Like - should I pay rent? How much? Aren't I already reducing expenditures by several thousand each month by agreeing to this mult-igeneration cohabitation scheme? So, is that enough? How should I chip in on the utilities? Can I have guests? Do I need to ask permission? It's been a long time since I had a non-romantic/related roommate. It's been 60+ years since The Mother lived with non family members. Well... not counting this stint at the nursing home. We've both been the absolute mistresses of our domains for decades. So how will we negotiate these house sharing issues?

What are my responsibilities? In my own home I'm the cleaner/plumber/handywoman/general fix-it person. I do all the maintenance and make the arrangements for professionals to do what I cannot. So, should I fix the leaky faucet at The Mother's kitchen sink? I know how, but does she want me tinkering with her plumbing? There's a soft spot on the floor in the foyer. Should I go downstairs and see what that's about? Can I plant things in the yard? Where will my furniture go?

I have answers for none of these questions. Well, ok, one or two have been tentatively answered. But The Mother doesn't come home until Monday, so nothing is fully resolved yet. At first that was driving me crazy, but I'm learning to live with it. "Where will we put the credenza?" does not actually require a final answer before we can make dinner tonight. I can, in fact, head off to work each morning without knowing how we'll handle holiday dinners in four months (will my father stay here in The Mother's guest room? Which one? [It's a big house.] Will he like it?). All of these things will resolve themselves in time. One at a time. And that's alright. We're all going to be alright.