In this time and place, Mom was going through extreme difficulties in making the transition from living mostly independently in the Retirement Residence called the Mullberry. Owing to escalating cognitive problems– as well as a manager that had been hired and proceeded over a few months to evict several elders, harass a few others into leaving and so on setting their sights on Donna and Mollie– Mom moved home but I managed to secure what I thought was a slight reprieve along the way. Her prior building (only a block away from here, along a flat, paved path constructed primarily for bicycles) would have her over in the evening for dinner, she would get exercise, socialization and a good meal– I’d get a break, making this sudden change in life a tiny bit more manageable.
I went out one day shortly before I wrote this post, about 330pm. Mom had to leave here by 4pm to walk very slowly over to her ‘old’ building for dinner. A couple of the early on visits had a problem: The moment dinner was over, she just got on the elevator and tried to return to her old apartment. It was empty, mom would either sit on her walker in the hall upstairs in a building she didn’t live in, or get mad and try to go in.
That wasn’t what really blew things up for me, though. The day I went out at 330, I came back to the apartment about 4pm– seeing my mother walking the wrong way down the bike path, going in a direction where she would have ended up alone and likely injured– and it was raining plus she had forgotten to put on her coat. I was on my bike when I passed her, and I almost started crying and crashed when I realized what was going on.
My denial– and consequently, my ability to blame the staff of her old building– was stronger than her navigation. I decided it best to hide this struggle, and instead just started helping her get to and from the other building. But the issues with her cognitive inability to make an adjustment to visitor and not resident when going back to her old building meant that she was banned less than two weeks after moving home.
I had ugly visions of bricks into managers windows dancing through my head, alongside flawed arguments: “Mom just got released from the hospital, she had a UTI! that causes deleriums! Mom just made a move and this has temporarily jumbled her cognition further– but she should be cleared up by the end of the month when things settle back down.” So on, and so on. The reality of being cut off for one more support– her: Peer emotional socialization & a break away from her son and his clumsy-ass ways of ‘helping’; Me a support of knowing she would get a meal and I’d get time to just be by myself daily– and the further isolation it was going to set in motion now that she wasn’t going there and little was happening here either…
Nov 14, 2014
Hello Facebook hivemind, I’m in a pickle and asking for general advice/help/suggestions, etc. My mother has moved home, but whether it’s her struggles getting a lot worse or not, she has been in a bad way when she has gone for the arranged ability to go for dinner at her previous building. I have already contacted the city for various home support things that are taking a ridiculously long time to get set up (I contacted them before she moved in and have only heard back from one after repeated calls).
[inserted edit]: What I have heard about are places located in the community that are welcoming of struggling yet defiant Lionesses like my mother. If you know of these programs, do let me know.
I am looking at determining, at the least, some ability to meet gaps in time and space while other means of getting community and city based support systems are established. If you have thoughts, suggestions, etc please either comment or private message me. Cheers, and thanks for the thoughts.