My update. This is long. If no one gets through it, I understand! It was helpful for me to write it.
How is it almost the end of October? (Exhale.)
May. In May we (my sister and I) learned Mom’s “age in place” place could no longer manage her needs and behaviours. In fairness to them, she had moved within the residence and she as at the equivalent of their “last stop” for dementia care. I visited Mom that month – meetings for work in the city (while evacuated from a wildfire), and didn’t entirely see what they saw, but I didn’t want her somewhere that didn’t really want her, if that makes sense.
June. While waiting to hear back from any one of the 5 homes that were deemed suitable for mom, I asked my sister if I could go and pre-pack/downsize Mom’s things, to avoid the situation that unfolded (random, haphazard, etc) when Mom was originally moved from home. My sister agreed, thankfully, and I went for almost 2 weeks. Winnowed down Mom’s belongings – unbeknownst to her, while she is still here.
It would take far too much backstory, here, to fully explain my relationship today with my siblings, both older. Strained at best. Communication entirely electronic (this is good) with my sister, and almost nonexistent with my brother (also good). It takes immense amounts of discernment, energy, to not let myself fall into old roles and patterns with them. Tons of work to show up in e-dialogue interactions and maintain my boundaries. With integrity and kindness? Tonsssss.
Also in June, I questioned my sister, Mom’s legal agent (I was Dad’s, and am executor for both), on a matter related to Mom’s care and management of the estate. Not critically – I checked with my counsellor! My sister’s response was to avoid responding, but to announce she had to resign from the role of Mom’s agent for personal reasons. This was fine by me. We’ve transitioned the role to me, mostly peacefully. (And I doubled up on therapy that month re: old roles, patterns, stories. There was a lot of “stage managing” the little sister – me – when we grew up. Me being capable, then or now, is veering off “the script”. But I’ve learned I need only write mine…)
July. I now think part of the process for Mom to be moved is that she had to get turned down by those 5 homes, and a few more, on the basis of her needs. She was put on a waitlist to both of the places that provide uber-specialized care. Her anti-anxiety meds were increased. I spent the month being ready to travel to the city to move Mom on short notice and didn’t end up going anywhere. A holding pattern for a month. I didn’t do a great job of living in the now.
August. With no news of a move, I made the trip to see Mom for the long weekend at the beginning of the month. Could see some of the behaviours they couldn’t manage, but was more concerned about her grogginess, her lack of consciousness. After the weekend, on the Tuesday, I checked out of my bnb and headed for the highway when the call came. She was accepted! Moving day would be Thursday! I checked into a hotel and got after it. Meetings with the new place, packing/unpacking, movers to pick things up for donation, cards and treats for staff – and actually working in between these. Moving Day had its moments, but Mom was a trooper. She was still, though, almost unconscious at times.
I planned to stay the following week to see how she settled in. Work from the city. Not even a week into the new place, and the nurse called me early one morning. Mom had vomited large amounts of blood in her sleep and then bile. The doc ordered a mobile x-ray of her abdomen, stops on all meds, and EMS to administer fluids. I spent the day there. Conversations with staff about Mom’s last wishes, comfort care, things like that. Cleaned and hydrated, she was sleeping peacefully when I left. I went back to my hotel, exhausted and unable to fall asleep. Fairly certain the phone would ring.
She mostly slept the next day while I decorated her walls – a photo collage – and played her cds. (Enya, Bob Dylan, some choral compilations, John Denver. An eclectic mix.)
Within a few days, she was sitting up. In her wheelchair, interacting with me in her garbled words, smiling. Told me she was hungry, let me feed her, ate it all. The staff at her new place attribute the episode to transition stress and overmedication.
I went home over two weeks later, having packed for a long weekend.
Today? Two months later… There is so much good in all of this.
- Mom’s new place is amazing. It’s large, new, and progressive. No oak panelling and old people art (e.g., Victorian ladies drinking tea, pioneers smiling while working the land, etc.) A plant wall. Music therapy. Windows everywhere. A visible daycare for the staff’s kids.
- Mom’s unit? I couldn’t be more relieved. The staff, and there are a ton of them, don’t consider the behaviours “problems”. They just redirect residents, distract them, and the care and dignity they treat them with made me teary. Mom actually seems relieved, in a way, to be there.
- I got to, and get to, practice showing up in email interactions with my siblings – again, writing my script. I do send very brief updates, and am very clear I will only update if/when necessary but they can reach out too. If I need a reply (i.e. about mom’s belongings) I am clear about that, what my plan b is if I don’t hear back, etc.
- Also? I got to reflect on Mom’s life. In some way, I got to re-connect with the true essence of her, not just the person she is now. I saw her in September when I was there for work meetings, before her 86th birthday. Not in October, as they had a few residents with covid and I wanted to support their wish to limit visitors.
The big one. Expectations! Summer was going to be weekends spent on the 5 acres of forest I made mine last year (a dream come true, only possible in sobriety). Spending time with my dear pals (recovery-supportive) at their cabin near my land while planning my future low-footprint, off-grid life. Writing. Growing tomatoes. Walking and doing yoga. Not getting overtired. But life had other plans, and today they make sense.
There’s more, there always is. The dog girl is getting right up there with her grandma. As of this week, the dear pals with the cabin are both facing illness, cancers. But this is long enough for now.
For now, I’ll just say that today, these are “the golden years”.
Life isn’t meant to be deferred. I deferred enough living while drinking.
Today, a sober Day 842, is a golden day in a golden year. 
A long twisty road to get her there for sure, and you did that!
It is what it is. You sound very generous with them.
as well those expectations and the sadness of letting go. I hope you have some good visits with your dear friends coming soon. May your plans come to fruition soon. Or some comforting semblance of your plans. Or just a comfy day with no crisis or running about. Maybe even more than just a day…lots of days. 
Many loving hugs. 
🩷
