We finish part two of the application process for my mom's transfer to an assisted living facility. And now we wait.
Despite the (temporary?) lull in paperwork, much remains to be done with my mom's apartment and I have that unwelcome conversation with her (one of many) today about what to pack for storage (for her later use) and what to discard.
Ed, listening in on the telephone call, comments -- it's sad for her. She keeps repeating that she can't go back, as if to grasp the reality of that fact.
He is correct. She repeats "how am I supposed to manage..." as if there is an expectation that she should. And sometimes, in my desperation to keep all the details of the application, of the move, of her current placement in order, I find myself mechanically repeating stuff that I know she knows. She asks for affirmation of her condition, I offer it. Again and again and again. Still, maybe I should stay silent and just let her express her dissatisfaction with everything? Perhaps there is greater value in just being quiet? I am the only person whom she will talk to. She is firm in this. Just me. And so I wear many hats here: her personal representative, her accountant, her packer, mover, finder of next home, her sole link to the outside world, her listener.
Of course, as I see it, there is a future for her. A likely 3.17 years of life, by governmental accounting. I need to guide her to some aspect of life that's pleasurable. To focus on what she can do, because honestly, despite her age, she can still think clearly, read, write, move around - though in a more limited fashion.
All these are morning thoughts, though they come after breakfast.
And after animal care. I no longer report here on the details of their care. It's so fluid! Some cats are missing, others seem ill. Dance isn't eating, one of the teens disappeared a few weeks ago, Stop Sign comes back to eat but never with her kittens. Who knows if they're still alive.
(Here's our outstandingly good looking teen -- Dark Blue Indigo Tuxedo. The girl with the four names.)
The cheepers on the other hand are doing well! Two are now (occasionally) laying eggs. No hawks have visited the farmette lands this winter (so far). They eat, they walk, they sleep. Such an uncomplicated life!
And here is a random flash of color for you: it comes from an orchid that I have kept for many years, despite the fact that it hasn't bloomed since I acquired it some ten years back. Out into the yard it goes each spring, inside it comes each fall. But this year, the stars were aligned: unexpectedly, a branch of buds sprang forth. And now we have blooms. There is a moral to the story, one that has to do with waiting. I'll let you formulate it as you wish. Here's the photo:
In the afternoon, the kids are here once more.
(I've got a new running theme! "The boy with the graham cracker!")
Snowdrop and Sparrow are both affectionate and giggly today.
There are worse ways to spend an afternoon than to be with kids who are in love with life!
A bitter cold spell is moving into Wisconsin tomorrow. We're ready for it. I think!
Despite the (temporary?) lull in paperwork, much remains to be done with my mom's apartment and I have that unwelcome conversation with her (one of many) today about what to pack for storage (for her later use) and what to discard.
Ed, listening in on the telephone call, comments -- it's sad for her. She keeps repeating that she can't go back, as if to grasp the reality of that fact.
He is correct. She repeats "how am I supposed to manage..." as if there is an expectation that she should. And sometimes, in my desperation to keep all the details of the application, of the move, of her current placement in order, I find myself mechanically repeating stuff that I know she knows. She asks for affirmation of her condition, I offer it. Again and again and again. Still, maybe I should stay silent and just let her express her dissatisfaction with everything? Perhaps there is greater value in just being quiet? I am the only person whom she will talk to. She is firm in this. Just me. And so I wear many hats here: her personal representative, her accountant, her packer, mover, finder of next home, her sole link to the outside world, her listener.
Of course, as I see it, there is a future for her. A likely 3.17 years of life, by governmental accounting. I need to guide her to some aspect of life that's pleasurable. To focus on what she can do, because honestly, despite her age, she can still think clearly, read, write, move around - though in a more limited fashion.
All these are morning thoughts, though they come after breakfast.
And after animal care. I no longer report here on the details of their care. It's so fluid! Some cats are missing, others seem ill. Dance isn't eating, one of the teens disappeared a few weeks ago, Stop Sign comes back to eat but never with her kittens. Who knows if they're still alive.
(Here's our outstandingly good looking teen -- Dark Blue Indigo Tuxedo. The girl with the four names.)
The cheepers on the other hand are doing well! Two are now (occasionally) laying eggs. No hawks have visited the farmette lands this winter (so far). They eat, they walk, they sleep. Such an uncomplicated life!
And here is a random flash of color for you: it comes from an orchid that I have kept for many years, despite the fact that it hasn't bloomed since I acquired it some ten years back. Out into the yard it goes each spring, inside it comes each fall. But this year, the stars were aligned: unexpectedly, a branch of buds sprang forth. And now we have blooms. There is a moral to the story, one that has to do with waiting. I'll let you formulate it as you wish. Here's the photo:
In the afternoon, the kids are here once more.
(I've got a new running theme! "The boy with the graham cracker!")
Snowdrop and Sparrow are both affectionate and giggly today.
There are worse ways to spend an afternoon than to be with kids who are in love with life!
A bitter cold spell is moving into Wisconsin tomorrow. We're ready for it. I think!
