At the Foot of the Stairs

Things started to fall apart during my last week in Utah. By things, I mean me. We had some very very good news: My father continues to do amazingly well. It became clear during my last week in Utah that my father will continue to thrive, but that also meant that things had to change. So, we set in motion the grinding work of moving both of my parents to Missouri. That work begins with convincing the parents that they need to do this. That was long, that was ugly, and after I got home from Utah, I slept for the first week. This has been my second week home, and I still feel tender, like someone has been holding me by the hair on my head, and my roots are aching. I don't feel like I can really put myself back into this ponytail. And yet. I also found my parents a place to live, and so tonight, I board the train once more for Utah. My mother is moving out of the nursing home tomorrow. Matt is in Utah now. I am going there to help him navigate both parents as well as to haul ass, ...

Before my dad was pronounced terminally ill, I saw him a few times a year for short trips. We spoke on the phone every week. He would call me on Friday mornings while my mother was at her hair appointment. So, I knew that I would miss him, miss those interactions. Now, I live with him, and he's my constant companion. So, before, when he died, I was going to miss an hour-long phone conversation, being able to pick up the phone and call him freely, and short visits. Now what the hell am I going to do when he dies? _____________________________________________________________________________________ Last night, Matt and I talked on the phone for awhile about our options. Basically, we are trying to figure out the most ethical way to opt out of this. I am wondering who exactly we are worry about yelling at us for leaving, besides our parents and ourselves. I could put my mother into a nursing home, but I could not walk away, and now for a variety of reasons, she is coming back ho...

My dad just told me that his 90-day hospice evaluation is coming up. They will evaluate whether or not he still needs to be on hospice. The nurse thinks they will keep him on. "But if they don't, then it will just be your mother and I here." "WUT." "Well, I'm not on hospice, you and Matt don't need to be here." "Why would they take you off hospice?" "Because I'm doing so well." "Well, I don't think that means you can take care of Mom by yourself." "Why not? She doesn't bother me the way she bothers you and Matt." "Oh, I don't think that's a good idea." My heart is pounding hard. What? What? They could take him off hospice? Which means, what, what have we been doing all this time? Why did we put our mother in a home? You mean after all this, we might be all the way back at square one? Which means that not only will this all have been for nothing (well, ar...

It's always a little harder for me after I've been here for two weeks already. That seems to be when the homesickness starts to kick in. I had a bad night Monday night, and then Tuesday morning, I was a mess. I realized that the housekeepers (yes, we have housekeepers. I know it's ridiculous, but would you want to put two people out of a job just because you can clean the house yourself, when you don't even want to?) had put one of my vibrams into a box of stuff that is still in the bedroom waiting to be sorted. I keep saying to it, "You've got to get yourself sorted," but it doesn't comply. One of my vibrams was in the box. I pawed through some kind of slippery drape-like fabric, pairs of socks, plastic sock clips to keep them from getting separated in the wash, address books, pens, and soon I was dumping it all over the floor. No vibram. So, I put everything back, piece by piece. No shoe. I dumped it out again. By this time, I was sitting on th...

He doesn't like how much time i spend on the computer, though if I don't have that stimulation, I get depressed. And it doesn't really seem to make much difference whether I'm on the computer or not as far as how much we talk. My brother and I have been trying to decide what to do about our mother next, and decided today to bring her home and enroll her in daycare (I sound like I am adopting a baby). So my dad and I bickered about that. He is worried that it will be the same as it was before she went in. My unce Burke is worried about that. But at that time, my father's death was imminent, it was all so new and the grief so fresh and the stress so great that we just had to get her out of our hair so we could breathe and think for awhile. I am not looking forward to having her back. But short-term, it seems cruel and unnecessary to put her in just another home that she will feel lonely and abandoned in. I am having some major guilt lately about having done this...

My dad on the phone to his friend Bob: "She's not happy there. Yeah, well, they think they can take care of her here. We'll see. I'll love having her here-- it'll at least be someone to talk to."

It's not like she didn't warn me. She told me she couldn't bear to move again. Yet, every single day she would say, "I hate this place. I see so many injustices here all the time," and then so would begin the litany of complaints. I didn't imagine that, right? Today, Burke brought her down to The Charleston. She wrinkled her nose the second she walked in. "I don't like this place," she told me. "Well," I said cheerily, "let's just look around!" "It's not as nice as the place I'm in now." "Well, when we are done here, I will show you your other option, and then maybe you'll appreciate how nice this place is." The cute girl, Michelle, who showed us around yesterday came from home (she still lives with her parents) to give us a tour. I introduced my mother. "Michelle, this is my mother, Pat." My mother said, "I don't like this place very much." We started...

... my mother's nursing home for continuing to provide me with such good material . Yesterday morning, Matt and I talked again. We decided not to decide anything until Monday, because we need time to think. I made a list of the pros and cons of bringing Mom home versus finding another nursing home. Then, when I was just sick to death of worrying about it, my dad said, "How'd you like to go get a buffalo sandwich?" "I'd love to. Let me take a quick shower." At first, I thought he meant buffalo as in buffalo wings. No, he meant buffalo as in herd, not New York. With him directing me, I drove up Provo Canyon to Heber City, Utah, where my maternal grandparents are buried. There is a really, really, really great place to eat there called Spin Cafe . (Private to Grand Marais people: Think The Wild Onion ). My dad got a buffalo burger, but I got a grilled cheese sandwich with pulled pork, tomato, and avacado. It was fantastic. Then, we both got a small ser...

Last night I told my brother that we were bringing Mom home and we were going to take care of her here and enroll her in the day care down the road. There was a silence. "Um, I think that is something that should have been discussed with me." I went red in the face even though I was on the phone. I had already told Burke to bring her home today. I had told my dad we were doing this. But Matt was right: He needs to be an intricate part of the conversation. He said, "What happened to putting her in a nursing home in Provo?" I called Burke and told him to hold off. Burke, trooper that he is, immediately offered to help me find a place nearer to where I am for her. I am not sorry that I gave notice at Sunrise. I may have even mentioned something yesterday about making sure that everybody we know hears about how shoddy that place is. I may have mentioned reviewing them on the Internet, too. Apparently, word of mouth is important. The next and trickiest challeng...