Tonight I lose an hour of sleep thanks to Daylight Savings Time. No biggie, really. I often lose hours of sleep. Or really I just misplace them. I tend to get my sleep whenever and where ever possible.
The fact is: I require plenty of rest. I know there are people in the world who can go on very little sleep. I am not one of them. I believe in napping and our culture tends to peg that as lazy or self-indulgent. In fact, we have been conditioned to expect ourselves to function well on little sleep, high stress and lousy food -- but that is simply absurd. And in my case if I don't get enough rest, I become a bit insane. Okay, QUITE a bit insane. I get in this state where I'm cranky or weepy or spacey or some combination of all three. Trust me, it isn't pretty!
Which is why I'm so pleased to be spending the days before my departure immersed in my yoga practice. I'm flying to Kentucky on Tuesday and the list of things I have left to do before leaving makes concentrating on anything other than errands pretty much unjustifiable. Yet halfway through my weekend of downward facing dog and meditation, it's obvious to me that this is the best possible use of my time.
Instead of loading up on travel sizes at Walgreens or mentally packing the car over and over again, I'm doing something as radical as sitting on a mat and BREATHING. Pretty revolutionary considering how much "sense" it makes to get my ducks in a row before I get on that plane. This activity is going to do a lot more than any last-minute errand possibly could to support my mom and me in the move. I'm balancing myself with breath and movement, cultivating a state of relaxation and regaining a sense of perspective that I will greatly need in the days to come.
I expect at times I will still feel frustrated, lose my patience, become overwhelmed with anxiety and experience plenty of other feelings. But I'm setting my baseline at a level of calm that can only improve my chances of making this trip with my best foot forward.
Now remember I said this when I tweet "Get out of my lane you *&#!**!!!!" from somewhere in Texas.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Friday, March 11, 2011
Choosing Change
I was having trouble falling asleep last night (not uncommon) when the news broke about the massive earthquake and tsunami that has struck Japan.
Looking at all that devastation while preparing for mom's move reminded me again how capricious life can be. We walk around thinking we have control and there are plenty of little choices we make all day long. Stuff like whether to have a donut or oatmeal for breakfast, if we should get gas on the way home from work or wait til morning (my tip: don't wait; gas prices go up every time you blink right now) or whether the kids should do soccer and music lessons or pick just one.
But the truth is we have no real control. As John Lennon said, "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans." Most of us know from personal experience how true that is. Heaven knows when folks in Northern Japan started their week, they didn't know they would end it facing thorough devastation.
Our family knows, and has known for a while, that mom is moving to an independent/assisted living facility in Burbank, Calif. In that respect, we have had the luxury of planning and preparation that those suffering a natural disaster or sudden tragedy do not. We are not facing massive loss of life and property, desperate pleas for international aid, and concerns about nuclear meltdown.
I am deeply grateful for that difference. You don't get to choose when the tsunami or heart attack or job loss hits. But there are times when you do have the option of choosing aspects of your major life changes.
Right after the doctor told my mom she could no longer live alone, she went into a formidable state of denial. Mercifully, that didn't last too long. For a variety of reasons, she soon accepted the reality that it was time to make the change she always knew she would eventually face. It's a complicated experience and she has slipped in and out of various degrees of acceptance, all of which are perfectly understandable.
My sister and I were quite frightened during those initial days of denial. We are a determined (okay, stubborn) bunch. It seems to be in the DNA. My mom is one of the sweetest people you will ever meet in your life -- but don't mess with her if she's made up her mind about something! Even though her reaction was typical, I was scared out of my mind. In addition to having wild visions of her tumbling down the stairs of her three-story townhouse, I was getting a disturbing bit of feedback as I began researching possible residences for her.
When I shared about her resistance, the staff at these various homes raised their eyebrows and all said the same thing in the same tone of restrained urgency: It sounds like you and your sister are going to have to make the decision for her.
Huh? What the hell does THAT mean?
I was told that if she was in "that much denial" and her health was at risk, her daughters would have to step in and force her to move.
"Um, you haven't met my mom," I said to one staff member. "That is NOT going to fly." She looked at me and gave me one of those kind, almost pitying looks and said, "Well, if it's a matter of her safety, you're going to have to do it."
Those were some of the darkest days yet in this process. Terrified my mom was going to die in her house and faced with the possibility of...what, binding and gagging her before throwing her on a plane against her will? Taking her to court to declare her incompetent? Good God. My mom couldn't live alone anymore, but she was FAR from incoherent or demented. I felt helpless, anxious and frustrated.
I contemplated these horrors, talking to my mom on the phone each day to reassure myself that she was still alive, wondering if I would find some magic word or phrase to make her see what had to be done. Then one day she told me she knew it was time to go. She confessed that a part of her felt a relief that the doctor had made the determination. The house, as much as she loves being in it, had become too much for her to keep up. The prospect of a more simplified existence actually held some appeal.
I was surprised and relieved -- and tremendously proud of my mom. She's one tough cookie. She drives me nuts sometimes (oh, you'll be hearing about that as we roll across the highways), but I admire and respect her for finding her way to accepting the doctor's news. As a result of that courage, I believe our family averted a disaster.
As much as anyone can ever can.
Looking at all that devastation while preparing for mom's move reminded me again how capricious life can be. We walk around thinking we have control and there are plenty of little choices we make all day long. Stuff like whether to have a donut or oatmeal for breakfast, if we should get gas on the way home from work or wait til morning (my tip: don't wait; gas prices go up every time you blink right now) or whether the kids should do soccer and music lessons or pick just one.
But the truth is we have no real control. As John Lennon said, "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans." Most of us know from personal experience how true that is. Heaven knows when folks in Northern Japan started their week, they didn't know they would end it facing thorough devastation.
Our family knows, and has known for a while, that mom is moving to an independent/assisted living facility in Burbank, Calif. In that respect, we have had the luxury of planning and preparation that those suffering a natural disaster or sudden tragedy do not. We are not facing massive loss of life and property, desperate pleas for international aid, and concerns about nuclear meltdown.
I am deeply grateful for that difference. You don't get to choose when the tsunami or heart attack or job loss hits. But there are times when you do have the option of choosing aspects of your major life changes.
Right after the doctor told my mom she could no longer live alone, she went into a formidable state of denial. Mercifully, that didn't last too long. For a variety of reasons, she soon accepted the reality that it was time to make the change she always knew she would eventually face. It's a complicated experience and she has slipped in and out of various degrees of acceptance, all of which are perfectly understandable.
My sister and I were quite frightened during those initial days of denial. We are a determined (okay, stubborn) bunch. It seems to be in the DNA. My mom is one of the sweetest people you will ever meet in your life -- but don't mess with her if she's made up her mind about something! Even though her reaction was typical, I was scared out of my mind. In addition to having wild visions of her tumbling down the stairs of her three-story townhouse, I was getting a disturbing bit of feedback as I began researching possible residences for her.
When I shared about her resistance, the staff at these various homes raised their eyebrows and all said the same thing in the same tone of restrained urgency: It sounds like you and your sister are going to have to make the decision for her.
Huh? What the hell does THAT mean?
I was told that if she was in "that much denial" and her health was at risk, her daughters would have to step in and force her to move.
"Um, you haven't met my mom," I said to one staff member. "That is NOT going to fly." She looked at me and gave me one of those kind, almost pitying looks and said, "Well, if it's a matter of her safety, you're going to have to do it."
Those were some of the darkest days yet in this process. Terrified my mom was going to die in her house and faced with the possibility of...what, binding and gagging her before throwing her on a plane against her will? Taking her to court to declare her incompetent? Good God. My mom couldn't live alone anymore, but she was FAR from incoherent or demented. I felt helpless, anxious and frustrated.
I contemplated these horrors, talking to my mom on the phone each day to reassure myself that she was still alive, wondering if I would find some magic word or phrase to make her see what had to be done. Then one day she told me she knew it was time to go. She confessed that a part of her felt a relief that the doctor had made the determination. The house, as much as she loves being in it, had become too much for her to keep up. The prospect of a more simplified existence actually held some appeal.
I was surprised and relieved -- and tremendously proud of my mom. She's one tough cookie. She drives me nuts sometimes (oh, you'll be hearing about that as we roll across the highways), but I admire and respect her for finding her way to accepting the doctor's news. As a result of that courage, I believe our family averted a disaster.
As much as anyone can ever can.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Thursday (or "How I Blew My Cool At The AAA Office")
My first mistake was leaving the house without having breakfast. Oh, it made sense at the time, but I really know better than that. I come from a long line of people who tend toward hypoglycemia and, therefore, become quite nasty when hungry.
I was running a bunch of errands -- you know, more stuff to do before I leave -- one of which was to go to the local AAA office and get the maps and guide books for the driving route back from Kentucky. How complicated is that?
Well, usually, it isn't. Today, however, I checked in and took my "seat in the middle," the group of chairs that amounts to the waiting area. I sat and sat and sat some more. And then I sat a little longer. I was keeping myself busy texting and reading stuff on my phone when I realized I had been waiting a full 20 minutes. I should have gotten up right that minute but I waited some more, a poor judgment call no doubt influenced by my lack of nourishment. So I started getting annoyed.
Finally I walked over to the check-in desk and tersely informed them that I had been waiting 30 minutes (it actually may have been more but 30 was enough to make my point). The receptionist dialed a few numbers and told me someone would be with me shortly. Hmmm. Could those numbers not have been dialed 30 minutes ago?
I again took my "seat in the middle" and waited. Two names were called before mine -- they needed other services so it's not like they were bumping me but I was still peeved. I decided enough was enough and that if my name was not the next one called, I was leaving.
Guess what...my name was not the next one called. I stood up and muttered, "I am not waiting" and marched for the exit. I was almost through the door when I thought I heard...no, could it be?...MY NAME BEING CALLED!!!
I turned around and walked up to the window in the travel section but the woman there said she hadn't called me. "It might be Window 10," she said. Okay, hello Window 10, did you call me? Nope. Try Window 8. Seriously?? I take the few steps to Window 8 as that clerk is calling a man's name. I stare at her. She stares at me and my membership card. "Did you call my name?" Yes, she did. "I'll take care of you right after I help this man."
KA-BOOM!
No, no you won't. I stormed out in a state of subdued fury (is there such a thing?). Although there is some good news: I left without tearing anyone a new you-know-what, which is what I would have done in my younger, less humble days. I'm so glad I didn't take it out on anyone because I really do not wish to be that person anymore. It's not someone else's job to be my punching bag because I was inconvenienced. Besides, I was the one who decided to skip breakfast and wait too long before speaking up to the check-in desk.
When I got in the car I felt so angry that I called a friend to vent. After a little discussion I could see that I'm trying to do to much. I'm trying to prepare for every possible need or situation my mom and I could encounter during the move. As soon as I said it out loud, I realized how absurd that really is. My heart is in the right place, wanting to make things as easy on my mom as possible. But the truth is I don't have that kind of power. This move is going to be challenging and messy and overwhelming. I can't protect her or myself from that fact. I can accept the reality or drive myself (and others) crazy trying to make everything work out, which it won't anyway. At least not the way I think it's supposed to.
Instead of trying to fix the world, I'm going to make a sandwich now.
I was running a bunch of errands -- you know, more stuff to do before I leave -- one of which was to go to the local AAA office and get the maps and guide books for the driving route back from Kentucky. How complicated is that?
Well, usually, it isn't. Today, however, I checked in and took my "seat in the middle," the group of chairs that amounts to the waiting area. I sat and sat and sat some more. And then I sat a little longer. I was keeping myself busy texting and reading stuff on my phone when I realized I had been waiting a full 20 minutes. I should have gotten up right that minute but I waited some more, a poor judgment call no doubt influenced by my lack of nourishment. So I started getting annoyed.
Finally I walked over to the check-in desk and tersely informed them that I had been waiting 30 minutes (it actually may have been more but 30 was enough to make my point). The receptionist dialed a few numbers and told me someone would be with me shortly. Hmmm. Could those numbers not have been dialed 30 minutes ago?
I again took my "seat in the middle" and waited. Two names were called before mine -- they needed other services so it's not like they were bumping me but I was still peeved. I decided enough was enough and that if my name was not the next one called, I was leaving.
Guess what...my name was not the next one called. I stood up and muttered, "I am not waiting" and marched for the exit. I was almost through the door when I thought I heard...no, could it be?...MY NAME BEING CALLED!!!
I turned around and walked up to the window in the travel section but the woman there said she hadn't called me. "It might be Window 10," she said. Okay, hello Window 10, did you call me? Nope. Try Window 8. Seriously?? I take the few steps to Window 8 as that clerk is calling a man's name. I stare at her. She stares at me and my membership card. "Did you call my name?" Yes, she did. "I'll take care of you right after I help this man."
KA-BOOM!
No, no you won't. I stormed out in a state of subdued fury (is there such a thing?). Although there is some good news: I left without tearing anyone a new you-know-what, which is what I would have done in my younger, less humble days. I'm so glad I didn't take it out on anyone because I really do not wish to be that person anymore. It's not someone else's job to be my punching bag because I was inconvenienced. Besides, I was the one who decided to skip breakfast and wait too long before speaking up to the check-in desk.
When I got in the car I felt so angry that I called a friend to vent. After a little discussion I could see that I'm trying to do to much. I'm trying to prepare for every possible need or situation my mom and I could encounter during the move. As soon as I said it out loud, I realized how absurd that really is. My heart is in the right place, wanting to make things as easy on my mom as possible. But the truth is I don't have that kind of power. This move is going to be challenging and messy and overwhelming. I can't protect her or myself from that fact. I can accept the reality or drive myself (and others) crazy trying to make everything work out, which it won't anyway. At least not the way I think it's supposed to.
Instead of trying to fix the world, I'm going to make a sandwich now.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Going Viral
Soon my mom will know about this blog. So will her family and friends. And anyone on the world wide web who finds our little sojourn an interesting read.
She'll be surprised and curious and thrilled. She's always been a big fan of my "work," all the way back to that decorative Thanksgiving plate I made in Brownies with my drawing of a turkey saying, "Goble" (sic). Awwww! (And, yes, it made the cut of mementos slated for packing and moving.)
But this is a wee bit different. This blog is in large part about impressions of HER life and I'm about to spend a considerable amount of time, energy and megabytes commenting on that, exposing it and (let's not forget) laughing about it. Although I don't want to sell my mom short. The truth is one of her most outstanding qualities is her ability to REALLY laugh at herself so she may not mind at all. I guess we'll soon find out.
Mom, how about we make a deal:. If you end up hating all this publicity and wanting revenge on me, I promise I will teach you how to blog once you're settled into your new pad in California. Then you can set the record straight!
Love, Mare
She'll be surprised and curious and thrilled. She's always been a big fan of my "work," all the way back to that decorative Thanksgiving plate I made in Brownies with my drawing of a turkey saying, "Goble" (sic). Awwww! (And, yes, it made the cut of mementos slated for packing and moving.)
But this is a wee bit different. This blog is in large part about impressions of HER life and I'm about to spend a considerable amount of time, energy and megabytes commenting on that, exposing it and (let's not forget) laughing about it. Although I don't want to sell my mom short. The truth is one of her most outstanding qualities is her ability to REALLY laugh at herself so she may not mind at all. I guess we'll soon find out.
Mom, how about we make a deal:. If you end up hating all this publicity and wanting revenge on me, I promise I will teach you how to blog once you're settled into your new pad in California. Then you can set the record straight!
Love, Mare
The Stuff o' Life
One day in the near or distant future, I may have to sort through piles of belongings at my parents' house that could include but not be limited to: every birthday card they've ever received; piles of snapshots with no dates, captions or identifiers; shoes no one's worn in 20 years and stockpiles of canned peaches.
But that day is not today. Not for me, anyway.
That day came recently for my friend, Mary (of this blog's title), who's been making trips from California to our native Kentucky to help her elderly mother, Patricia, shut down and pack up the family home and prep for the cross-country move of her life. It's not been, shall we say, an easy process and I happen to have a unique perspective. I've known the family since Mary and I were college roommates in Kentucky and I love them dearly. So I'm the perfect mix of familiar insider and detached observer when she needs to let off a little steam (okay, maybe a LOT).
I believe you learn a lot about people by the stuff they hold onto. Not just the daily detritus lying around on the countertops, but the things they keep, put in drawers and closets -- the things they save.
And after going through three floors of her mom's house with a fine-tooth comb (and there were probably a couple dozen of those hanging around, by the way), Mary knows a lot more about Pat than she ever did before.
I'll let her expound on some of that because a) it'll be funnier when she tells it and b) she might need to vent about the jaw-dropping amounts of paper clips, random pieces of metal and file drawers brimming with musty cancelled checks that she unearthed.
Important note: when it's someone else's junk, it's considered bad form to just chuck it into the Dumpster while rolling your eyes and saying things like, "Who lives this way?" When it's your elderly/ill/infirm parent's junk, it's an even more delicate situation, as many of us Gen Xers are finding out as our parents downsize the family compounds, heading to manageable apartments or that Melrose Place for the geriatric set, Leisureworld.
Especially when there's a deadline, and there often is, you don't have time to hear the twisted rationalizations about why your mom hordes sugar packets from restaurants (that would be my poor friend Marc's current dilemma). You need only ask: "Keep or toss?" And even that is a loaded question.
Mary's heading back to Louisville for the final phase, where she'll be faced, no doubt, with massive piles of Pat's life that have yet to be labeled, categorized, boxed or tamed. I do not envy her. And though Pat will be coming to a new home, a beautiful place to live in the Valley close to both Mary, her sister, Ruth, and me, she's parting with more than just a condo in eastern Jefferson County, Kentucky. She's leaving everything she's known for decades, including her friends, her favorite grocery store, her familiar routes and routines and many of the material possessions she's collected over the last 50-plus years.
Granted, she probably didn't need Mary's college report cards from the '80s or that belt from a dress she hasn't worn (or even seen) in years. Other stuff has been tougher to part with, emotionally and psychologically.
Once the packing's done, or at least mostly done, Mary and Pat will haul themselves by car, Thelma-and-Louise-style, to Los Angeles. (Much more on that later -- check back for the play-by-play as Mary charts their progress across the great U. S. of A. and I provide commentary like only a smartass observer who's not in a confined space with an aged parent can do).
Meanwhile, since I'm feeling a little overwhelmed by my own clutter, I think I'll purge some of the approximately 87 wash cloths and guest towels I've uncovered in the linen closet. Since I don't have nearly that many faces, hands or visitors, I think I can safely get rid of most of these without ever feeling their loss. Superfluous crap, be gone!
But that day is not today. Not for me, anyway.
That day came recently for my friend, Mary (of this blog's title), who's been making trips from California to our native Kentucky to help her elderly mother, Patricia, shut down and pack up the family home and prep for the cross-country move of her life. It's not been, shall we say, an easy process and I happen to have a unique perspective. I've known the family since Mary and I were college roommates in Kentucky and I love them dearly. So I'm the perfect mix of familiar insider and detached observer when she needs to let off a little steam (okay, maybe a LOT).
I believe you learn a lot about people by the stuff they hold onto. Not just the daily detritus lying around on the countertops, but the things they keep, put in drawers and closets -- the things they save.
And after going through three floors of her mom's house with a fine-tooth comb (and there were probably a couple dozen of those hanging around, by the way), Mary knows a lot more about Pat than she ever did before.
I'll let her expound on some of that because a) it'll be funnier when she tells it and b) she might need to vent about the jaw-dropping amounts of paper clips, random pieces of metal and file drawers brimming with musty cancelled checks that she unearthed.
Important note: when it's someone else's junk, it's considered bad form to just chuck it into the Dumpster while rolling your eyes and saying things like, "Who lives this way?" When it's your elderly/ill/infirm parent's junk, it's an even more delicate situation, as many of us Gen Xers are finding out as our parents downsize the family compounds, heading to manageable apartments or that Melrose Place for the geriatric set, Leisureworld.
Especially when there's a deadline, and there often is, you don't have time to hear the twisted rationalizations about why your mom hordes sugar packets from restaurants (that would be my poor friend Marc's current dilemma). You need only ask: "Keep or toss?" And even that is a loaded question.
Mary's heading back to Louisville for the final phase, where she'll be faced, no doubt, with massive piles of Pat's life that have yet to be labeled, categorized, boxed or tamed. I do not envy her. And though Pat will be coming to a new home, a beautiful place to live in the Valley close to both Mary, her sister, Ruth, and me, she's parting with more than just a condo in eastern Jefferson County, Kentucky. She's leaving everything she's known for decades, including her friends, her favorite grocery store, her familiar routes and routines and many of the material possessions she's collected over the last 50-plus years.
Granted, she probably didn't need Mary's college report cards from the '80s or that belt from a dress she hasn't worn (or even seen) in years. Other stuff has been tougher to part with, emotionally and psychologically.
Once the packing's done, or at least mostly done, Mary and Pat will haul themselves by car, Thelma-and-Louise-style, to Los Angeles. (Much more on that later -- check back for the play-by-play as Mary charts their progress across the great U. S. of A. and I provide commentary like only a smartass observer who's not in a confined space with an aged parent can do).
Meanwhile, since I'm feeling a little overwhelmed by my own clutter, I think I'll purge some of the approximately 87 wash cloths and guest towels I've uncovered in the linen closet. Since I don't have nearly that many faces, hands or visitors, I think I can safely get rid of most of these without ever feeling their loss. Superfluous crap, be gone!
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
My head is swimming today.
I feel like before I leave I have to get a handle on things in two states and all the places in between. I have to leave everything in place at home so that my prolonged absence doesn't send MY life into chaos: pet sitting, mail pickup, plant watering, bill paying (which means having enough in the bank before I leave so that all those auto payments don't bounce into the stratosphere). I'm using the blog and tweets to stay connected to everyone which I think is going to be a lifesaver (thanks for the idea, Terry). I just don't like being physically gone from home for lengthy periods.
But that's not all. I want to be mentally prepared to support my mom in what is, no doubt, the hugest transition of her life in decades. EVERYTHING is about to change for her and it's a lot to take in. So I want to get my head clear enough to be present for her needs when I'm in Kentucky helping her with the final push. I just found out my sister will go there a few days ahead of me to do some prep work and I thank heavens for that. All hands on deck, right?
I also have to plan the trip route for the drive back and have some reasonable system in place for hotels on the road. Because the thought of wandering through rural Texas looking for a friendly inn with my 78-year-old mom in the car sounds just a little bit like the seventh circle of HELL. I got GPS on my phone so that I could find medical facilities quickly should that become necessary. Not that I'm expecting it but I want to have it just in case.
These are the kinds of thoughts that keep me up all night and also make me want to just go back to bed. Presuming I ever got out of bed. Which I kind of haven't done yet today. HEY! Don't judge me! Besides, I'm posting on Pacific Standard Time so it's not like it's afternoon.
Yet.
I feel like before I leave I have to get a handle on things in two states and all the places in between. I have to leave everything in place at home so that my prolonged absence doesn't send MY life into chaos: pet sitting, mail pickup, plant watering, bill paying (which means having enough in the bank before I leave so that all those auto payments don't bounce into the stratosphere). I'm using the blog and tweets to stay connected to everyone which I think is going to be a lifesaver (thanks for the idea, Terry). I just don't like being physically gone from home for lengthy periods.
But that's not all. I want to be mentally prepared to support my mom in what is, no doubt, the hugest transition of her life in decades. EVERYTHING is about to change for her and it's a lot to take in. So I want to get my head clear enough to be present for her needs when I'm in Kentucky helping her with the final push. I just found out my sister will go there a few days ahead of me to do some prep work and I thank heavens for that. All hands on deck, right?
I also have to plan the trip route for the drive back and have some reasonable system in place for hotels on the road. Because the thought of wandering through rural Texas looking for a friendly inn with my 78-year-old mom in the car sounds just a little bit like the seventh circle of HELL. I got GPS on my phone so that I could find medical facilities quickly should that become necessary. Not that I'm expecting it but I want to have it just in case.
These are the kinds of thoughts that keep me up all night and also make me want to just go back to bed. Presuming I ever got out of bed. Which I kind of haven't done yet today. HEY! Don't judge me! Besides, I'm posting on Pacific Standard Time so it's not like it's afternoon.
Yet.
Monday, March 7, 2011
My mom has lived in Kentucky her entire life. My sister and I live in Los Angeles. Last fall the doc said she could no longer live alone, which she has done since our dad died in 2005. So she's moving across the country to be close to us. Hmmm. What's THAT like? I'm curious to find out myself and I'm going to post my observations and experiences here.
Let me clear up something about the blog name: it's slightly inaccurate. It's catchy so that's why I like it. But really my mom is moving herself, with an enormous amount of help from her daughters. It's just that My Aging Mom Is Moving With An Enormous Amount of Help From Her Adult Daughters didn't seem like a good blog title, much less Twitter name.
My sister, Ruth, has insisted all along that I've done the lion's share of the work on our end. I'm not sure if that's true but she seems to thank me OFTEN. I know I don't feel like it's been disproportionate. I had more time available than my sister when all this blew up so I told her I didn't mind doing more of the footwork stuff (calling doctors, researching places for mom to live, etc.) -- as long as she didn't leave ANYTHING solely up to me in terms of decision-making. She agreed and we've been in this together every step of the way. Apparently to have the siblings getting along so well in this endeavor is rare. I don't know if that's true but I know I'm incredibly grateful that Ruth and I can support each other.
In only eight days I'll fly to Kentucky to help mom with the final packing. Then we'll drive away from her home and head west. Wish me luck.
Let me clear up something about the blog name: it's slightly inaccurate. It's catchy so that's why I like it. But really my mom is moving herself, with an enormous amount of help from her daughters. It's just that My Aging Mom Is Moving With An Enormous Amount of Help From Her Adult Daughters didn't seem like a good blog title, much less Twitter name.
My sister, Ruth, has insisted all along that I've done the lion's share of the work on our end. I'm not sure if that's true but she seems to thank me OFTEN. I know I don't feel like it's been disproportionate. I had more time available than my sister when all this blew up so I told her I didn't mind doing more of the footwork stuff (calling doctors, researching places for mom to live, etc.) -- as long as she didn't leave ANYTHING solely up to me in terms of decision-making. She agreed and we've been in this together every step of the way. Apparently to have the siblings getting along so well in this endeavor is rare. I don't know if that's true but I know I'm incredibly grateful that Ruth and I can support each other.
In only eight days I'll fly to Kentucky to help mom with the final packing. Then we'll drive away from her home and head west. Wish me luck.
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