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.