You could say that the sails of the ship carrying my mom to her new living arrangement had been temporarily dropped this week, as we wait for that stiff breeze to push her forward again. Meaning -- I'd done the application for benefits, and when she was approved I'd selected her managed care program, I'd moved her stuff out of her apartment, and I inspected her next possible residence. Now came the wait for the managed care organization to interview her, draw up their own assessment, and send all the paperwork to the worker who would partner with me in the search for her new placement.
The sails were hoisted again today, the day of the big interview with her new care program. I am present for it and it takes up the whole morning (followed by an afternoon of phone calls to her various docs, with requests for goods and services that she will need going forward).
I'm neither surprised nor discouraged by the process, since I think everything has sailed as per expectation, with no glitches or snafus or ill winds. I don't think my mom shares my enthusiasm for it, but then, as the case workers confirmed after the lengthy visit, she has yet to accept the new reality. (The new reality is that she moves at a much slower pace than she did two months ago.) Nothing about it is particularly satisfying to her. Really, nothing. The hope is that once she is in a new place, her mood will improve.
All this means that my day has to be arranged differently. Oh, I still get up to feed the animals. And it is unsettling to go to the shed, because the two newly fixed kitties are still in hiding and indeed, I'm not even able to locate one of them -- Miss Calico. I hope she isn't stuck somewhere behind a machine, wasting away. Ed tells me that's silly and she can surely extricate herself from wherever she is hiding, but I'm not so sure.
Oh, and the poor guy does drag his sleepy self down for breakfast with me.
And then I am off to my mom's and I don't sit down to exhale until the tail end of the afternoon.
The kids are at home with a parent and I promised I would come over to read a book or two to whichever grandkid is hungry for a snuggle on the couch with a good story. After the reading comes the play!
And I pause to have a catch up chat with my daughter (and her entourage)...
(winners all!)
And then I return home. The farmhouse looks so sweetly quiet and serene tonight. There is a pale light cast by a near perfect moon. A cat moves stealthily across a field of snow, another sits on the path and watches me, hoping perhaps that I'll veer to the shed and open another can of cat food.
I do head that way first, just to make sure the kitties are there and still breathing. And they are and so I head back to the farmhouse, throw down my jacket, my bag, my camera, and take out the frying pan. Salmon burgers tonight. Followed by popcorn.
The sails were hoisted again today, the day of the big interview with her new care program. I am present for it and it takes up the whole morning (followed by an afternoon of phone calls to her various docs, with requests for goods and services that she will need going forward).
I'm neither surprised nor discouraged by the process, since I think everything has sailed as per expectation, with no glitches or snafus or ill winds. I don't think my mom shares my enthusiasm for it, but then, as the case workers confirmed after the lengthy visit, she has yet to accept the new reality. (The new reality is that she moves at a much slower pace than she did two months ago.) Nothing about it is particularly satisfying to her. Really, nothing. The hope is that once she is in a new place, her mood will improve.
All this means that my day has to be arranged differently. Oh, I still get up to feed the animals. And it is unsettling to go to the shed, because the two newly fixed kitties are still in hiding and indeed, I'm not even able to locate one of them -- Miss Calico. I hope she isn't stuck somewhere behind a machine, wasting away. Ed tells me that's silly and she can surely extricate herself from wherever she is hiding, but I'm not so sure.
Oh, and the poor guy does drag his sleepy self down for breakfast with me.
And then I am off to my mom's and I don't sit down to exhale until the tail end of the afternoon.
The kids are at home with a parent and I promised I would come over to read a book or two to whichever grandkid is hungry for a snuggle on the couch with a good story. After the reading comes the play!
And I pause to have a catch up chat with my daughter (and her entourage)...
(winners all!)
And then I return home. The farmhouse looks so sweetly quiet and serene tonight. There is a pale light cast by a near perfect moon. A cat moves stealthily across a field of snow, another sits on the path and watches me, hoping perhaps that I'll veer to the shed and open another can of cat food.
I do head that way first, just to make sure the kitties are there and still breathing. And they are and so I head back to the farmhouse, throw down my jacket, my bag, my camera, and take out the frying pan. Salmon burgers tonight. Followed by popcorn.
