Acceptance

My mom is now in California with my sister.

I cried off and on all morning getting mom ready for the plane. I felt like I was sending my child off to camp and she didn't want to go.

After I left the airport, I pulled over, called my sister and cried more. If I think about it all very much (which I'm about to do in order to post), I'll start crying again.

My tears are complicated. I feel mostly sorrow but also fear, guilt and anger.

As far as I can tell, most of the fear and guilt stem from second-guessing myself. Maybe I should have planned smarter. Maybe I should have bullied her into the move last November for her own good. Maybe I should have known a car trip was never wise and planned all along to fly her. Maybe I was being selfish and I somehow pushed her -- and what if I've permanently degraded her health by dragging her across the country. Whatever those feelings are, they will pass -- and then, perhaps, return. But I've had more therapy than a human being might need in five lifetimes, so I'm going to trust that I will cope with those emotions as they ebb and flow.

The sorrow and anger feel like they come from a deeper place and are actually mixed up together a little bit. I'm mostly feeling the sadness (hence the crying), but I know anger is there as well.

It was especially hard to watch my mom struggle the past few days with increasing levels of weakness, disorientation, pain, and confusion. I never expected us to leap tall buildings, but she was truly handicapped on our journey -- and not just physically. As we discussed the plan for her to fly the rest of the way, she responded with reasoning that implied she was actually unaware of how hindered she was. For example, she suggested that her presence was necessary in the car to help me with the remainder of the drive. I didn't know what to say except, "It's become too hard on me."

In fact, she often mixed up east and west, she teetered and stumbled whenever she tried to walk, and repeated herself often. She also could not read the maps due to her vision and her disorientation, which I found especially sad since she reminisced about her role as navigator/co-pilot on trips with my dad. I didn't have the heart to tell her it wasn't helping but she probably figured it out.

I feel like I've been walking on eggshells the past 48 hours while the situation became progressively worse and mom mostly denied it. She told me several times as she argued against the flight that she could walk on her own, or travel another hundred miles a day and get started earlier in the morning. All I could do was shake my head and say, "No, mom. You can't." To the extent that her denial may be a defense mechanism against feeling humiliated or useless, it felt pretty awful to be in a position where I had to concretely state how disabled she was.

Even now I don't know what her perception is of herself. I think she agreed to fly mostly because she could tell Ruth and I were worrying. And she could see my face as I welled up describing the worst-case scenarios I feared if we continued by car. I told her how exhausted I was and that I didn't think I could do it the way we planned any longer. So she agreed and got on that plane.

She sent me a text at the connecting airport: "...tired  u were right xo"

I think all in all, my tears today have to do with the fact that this was necessary at all and what that implies about mom's wellness. I love my mom and I still need her. I don't like what I saw, however much it validates the plan for her move to assisted living. I feel a deep fear blooming again -- the fear that I have held in tight check just waiting for the day until she gets proper care. But, then again, I'm pretty sure after I get some rest, I won't feel so discouraged.

At least she's with Ruth now, in a house that's familiar to her, and with her grandchildren. I'll get back to Los Angeles sometime Saturday. Monday mom will head over to the facility to officially move into her new home.

For now, good night from Albuquerque.