Mom at 97

Elizabeth V. O'Brien, January 19, 2008
Photo by Catherine O'Brien

Life is flying by too fast for me to take a breath and blog. Last Saturday afternoon Corby and I visited my mother to celebrate her 97th birthday. My sister Catherine took this photo earlier in the day. She's not happy. We are caught in the middle of the nightmare of US health care and insurance limitations. We don't know what more we can do to make her life more pleasant. Below is her photo at her 90th birthday party.

Lost?

No, not exactly lost. More like mired, traumatized by seemingly endless family crises. That's what accounts for my recent silence.

My 96-year-old mother, whose mind is gone and whose body is not far behind, told my sister Catherine recently: "I've decided not to die." She lives in one of those euphemistically named "convalescent hospitals." She hates it there. She's miserable. Yet she's never in her room, always seeking social contact somewhere in the facility. She cannot write, read or use the phone, which means she's cut off from far-flung relatives who enjoy keeping in touch with her. She's very unsteady on her feet and has taken several bad falls, one of which is the cause of her being in that facility in the first place, yet she constantly tries to get up and walk. I guess in some ways that's a good sign. She's tried to walk out of the facility. The staff has to monitor her so she doesn't fall or leave. She has no place to go, and she barely knows where she is anyway.

Neither Catherine nor I has the space or resources to care for her in our homes. Our father's legacy to ensure her care in her declining years is rapidly dwindling. Sadly, Mom's situation is not an unusual one in our society.

The other piece of bread of this sandwich in which I am the meat is my 30-year-old daughter. She's been in crisis that's breaking my heart, and my bank account. I've felt loved and supported by my dear friends and family during this difficult time. My partner Corby's been a wonder throughout everything. Still, love and support can only go so far. She has to take it the rest of the way on her own.

Enough of this whining. I'll be back on a more regular basis when I can manage it.

In the meantime, I direct you to my friend Victoria's blog, where she's posted some of those wonderful sheela na gig quilts I mentioned earlier. Here's a photo of the sheela at Killinaboy Church in County Clare; that's Corby gazing up at it.

And let us celebrate the victory of the Pentacle Quest. Watch for my friend Todd Berntson's forthcoming video called "A Hero Denied" documenting the whole quest.

What to do...

when one's aged mom is failing physically and losing her memory? I don't know. One step at a time, I guess.

Our mom, who will turn 95 next month, took a bad fall about five weeks ago. She was unconscious in her apartment for at least a whole day, and possibly from the night before. Even though she lives in a senior apartment complex where there's a cord to pull if you need emergency help and someone is supposed to check on residents who miss meals, no one found her till about 8:30 in the evening. Miraculously, she didn't break anything, but she doesn't remember much and I suspect she may have had another TIA (a mini-stroke).

She's out of hospital and in a convalescent hospital now. We have no idea how long she'll be there or what we'll do with her when she's released. Obviously she can't return to her apartment. She can walk only a little, a real bummer for someone who used to love to take long walks, especially when she had to relinquish her driver's license after she wrecked her car backing out of her former apartment complex.

Mom is a social animal if there ever was one, revels in her many visitors, even though she cannot remember who visited and when. She seems fairly lucid at times, then something switches in her head and she becomes a whining, weepy child asking to be taken home. This woman has been a strong presence in my life for all my 62 years so seeing her in such a pathetic, dependent state really shocks me.

Tomorrow my sister Catherine and I have a meeting with Mom's physical therapist, social worker, et al. to figure out the next step.