Visiting My Mother

I drove up on Monday morning, leaving home at 7:30am, stopping once to drive through Burger King for breakfast and once to get gas and pee. At 4:00, 500 miles later, I arrived and checked into my room.

Except this time the managers put me in a 2 bedroom 2 bath "show" apartment, which was much nicer than the guest apartment, and closer to Mom.  I really don't mind staying in the little guest room, which is just one small room with a mini-refrigerator and a tv and a bed and a chair (well, and a bathroom), but having room to walk around in was a lot more comfortable. Having a big flat-screen HDTV and a couch to sit on and a kitchenette and a balcony overlooking the magnolia trees was way better.

Fancy living room

Fancy bedroom which is in fact nowhere near a sea

Mom and I always go to the IHOP to have breakfast for dinner the evening I arrive, it's our ritual.  She always gets the Senior Rooty, with blueberries or strawberries on her pancakes.  I always get the 2x2x2, which is 2 eggs, 2 pancakes and 2 pieces of bacon.  We always get the Splashberry drinks, which are Sprite, orange juice, and strawberries.  For some reason Mom always eats pretty much everything on her plate at IHOP.

Why even look at the menu, really?

Afterwards we hang out in her apartment, she gives me the stack of things she has been saving for me (interesting articles from our local paper in VA, letters and cards that she's gotten, and magazine articles about eating healthy and finding a job), and we watch Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy.  She has turned on the closed-captioning and doesn't use the sound at all any more.

Mom's hearing is not great.  She has hearing loss and has a hearing aid, but she also has nerve damage that distorts sound.  The doctor says it won't get worse, but there's nothing to do to help it, either.  The past time or two that I've visited I've noticed that Mom doesn't drag me all over the retirement home to introduce me to people like she used to, and I think it's because she is afraid that she won't be able to understand them.

At this point, there are plenty of people there who know me.  When Rhea, the manager, walked me down the hall to my room I ran into Paul; he lives across the hall from Mom. He's from Florida, so we have that in common.  "How are things down in Orlando?" he called when he saw me coming.  "Too hot, like everywhere else," I answered.

My fancy 2 bedroom apartment was right next door to Dee.  Dee is still very mobile for her age, tall and slender with curly white hair, and she's always dressed well.  Dee has breakfast with Mom every morning, and sometimes sits with her at lunch, depending on who else is there.  Dee doesn't come down to dinner, though, because she eats in her apartment with her boyfriend from down the hall.

Mom typically has lunch with Wilma and Mickie, who are her two closest friends.  Wilma is a lovely woman with painted nails and pretty jewelry, who flirts with the waiters in the dining room.  I won't say she flirts with every man, because I wouldn't want to hurt Greg's feelings.  She always asks about Greg and talks about how she's looking forward to seeing him again.

I think some women, regardless of age, just have a flirt gene.  I am not one of those women.

Mickie is very, very sweet.  She walks with a walker, and she is always smiling.  When I visited in March, Mickie gave me a birthday card, and signed it Your Mother's Friend.  When I sit in the dining room with them, I always try to put my back to the room so Mom and Mickie can watch everyone coming in, see who sits where, and discuss what's been going on with whom.

At some point I always run into Connie, either in the lobby or the dining room or the elevator.  She's a friendly Southern lady and always gives me a big hug.

On Tuesday Mom and I met my sister Mary and my niece Susan at Red Lobster for lunch.  I try to include Mom in the conversation, but I know she misses as much as she hears.  She says she hears enough, and she seems to enjoy herself.  She feels overwhelmed by all the food, though, and is only happy if someone will split a meal with her, because she thinks it's just too much.  I split lunch with her this time, sharing a salad, shrimp scampi, and broccoli.  There is always a small argument over how much goes on my plate and how much goes on hers.

Yes, have another biscuit!

On Wednesday I took Mom to Belks to try to find a blouse.  She can get along pretty well in a store with her walker, but we ended up having to walk too much this time, and she didn't find anything she liked so it felt like a waste of time.  Then the two of us went back to Red Lobster.  She likes it and she's comfortable there, so it's certainly fine with me.  This time we split a fish and chips lunch, and it was surprisingly good.

Each afternoon I would leave Mom alone to rest a while.  There was no wifi in the retirement home this time, the person from whom I usually steal it is farther away from the fancy apartment so I couldn't get it.  But I had my computer, and my Kindle, and the fancy TV, so it was relaxing for me, too.

Hanging out in my Gryffindor t-shirt, taking an iPhone pic of myself blowing a kiss to Greg

On Tuesday and Wednesday we had dinner in the dining room with Mickie and Wilma, and afterwards we watched TV and looked at pictures and talked about people back home.

We went back to IHOP, for actual breakfast this time, on Thursday morning.  We got the same things, though, without bothering with menus.  I was on the road headed south at 9:30am and drove up to my house at 5:00pm, literally just a moment before Greg pulled up.

I miss her already.  I remember the first time that Greg and I drove Mom and Dad up there and helped them move in, and I cried as we drove away.  Now, I don't usually cry, I just settle in for my long boring drive, feeling sad.  I feel sad and think about Mom until around Macon, which is about 2 hours.  Then after the Macon bypass I get on 75, the highway that'll take me into mid-Florida, and I start thinking about home.

The Restaurant Procedure

My visit with Mom last week was just lovely.  I worked on Monday then drove up to North GA on Tuesday, and we had our traditional breakfast for dinner at the nice IHOP.  (It really is kind of surprisingly nice for an IHOP.)  I had the 2x2x2 like always (2 eggs, 2 pieces of bacon, 2 pancakes), without even going through the pointless charade of looking at the menu.  Mom had the Senior Rooty, with blueberries on her pancakes. 

Mom walks with a walker now, but it's too hard to manuever inside a restaurant, so that means our Restaurant Procedure, which is as follows:

I park in a handicapped spot (Mom has a placard to hang on my rearview mirror).  I come around and help Mom out, I carry the pillow that she uses for her back and we walk into the restaurant with her holding onto my outstretched arm and hand.  A lot of times people see us coming and helpfully hold the door for us.  Inside, I ask for a booth (chairs are more likely to have hard backs that are uncomfortable for Mom, even with her pillow) and if it's a big restaurant like Red Lobster, I ask for a booth near the front to avoid a long walk.  I walk with Mom to our table, and help her adjust the pillow behind her back.

Once seated, the temperature discussion begins.  Is it too cold?  Should I go out to the car and get Mom's jacket for her?  Is there a breeze blowing on Mom, should we ask for another table?  Mom has trouble hearing, she has nerve damage in her ears that her hearing aid doesn't help with, so I lean across the table to speak to her.  When the temperature issue is settled, the what-will-we-order discussion starts.  Mom feels very put upon by the large portions most restaurants serve, so I offer to split an entree with her.  Mom worries that I won't have enough food, and I reassure her that it'll be fine.  She usually says she never really feels hungry, and I don't quite know how to respond to that.

Sometimes servers are very respectful to Mom, and once they see that she has trouble hearing, they will speak up a bit, or speak a little slower.  Sometimes they're impatient, and I have to translate what they said for Mom; but she always does her own ordering.

Once settled in and with our order in place, Mom will look around at the other diners.  Last week in IHOP, she had a whole waving thing going with a tiny girl in a baby seat who kept smiling at Mom.  When the food comes, there is always a minor argument when Mom wants to give me "just one more shrimp" or something else off her plate.

The big argument happens when the check comes.  My tiny little mother, who I have never known to raise her voice or be confrontational with anyone (LITERALLY, I am not exaggerating) will snatch away that check as quickly as her arthritic hands will let her.  And let me tell you, she is not kidding.

She is a Southern woman who fully believes that it is her job to show visitors hospitality such as the visitor has never previously known.  This Southern hospitality must, at all costs, consist of copious amounts of food, including but not limited to sweet tea and biscuits, and if possible sending the visitor away with a big bag of tomatoes, peaches, or walnuts, whichever is in season.  It hurts Mom to have visitors come and, not only can she not feed them, but they are trying to buy her food!  That will not DO, not at all.

This is where the bargaining begins.  How about if I let her pay at IHOP, but I will pay when we go to Red Lobster?  If I let her pay the check, can I leave the tip?  My rate of success depends largely on the time of year.  At Christmas, she is adamant about wanting to pay for everything, because the horror of her not being able to feed me and Greg is compounded by her not having a pile of beautifully wrapped gifts for us.  Last week, the best I could do was leave the tip, because she felt bad about not having a birthday present for me.  It's a tricky thing, because I just hate having her pay for anything, but I don't want to hurt her feelings, and it's a big deal to her.  I thanked her several times during the trip, telling her how much I appreciated her birthday present of buying my lunches.

As annoying as all this sounds, I love it.  I really do.  I'm proud to walk into a restaurant with my 90-year old Mother on my arm.  I'm proud of her for going out, when walking is such a scary thing for her, and she has so much trouble hearing people.  I love her for being so sweet and wanting to give me things. I try so hard to make sure everything is comfortable for her, and it can get stressful when things are not in my control.

But my visit was so very nice.  I had dinner with her and her friends in the dining room, we shopped successfully for underwear and a robe and a pretty blouse for her, we looked at old photos, she seemed delighted to get the large-print biography of Regis Philbin I brought her (she loves Reege), and everything was just fine.

I drove back on Friday.  I miss her already.  With all the upheaval in my life, I am not sure when I'll be able to go back.

I Still Don't Know What I Was Waiting For

"I still don't know what I was waiting for

And my time was running wild

A million dead end streets

Every time I thought I'd got it made

It seemed the taste was not so sweet

Then I turned myself to face me

But I never caught a glimpse

Of how the others must see the faker

I'm much too fast to take that test."

~ Changes, David Bowie

Every time I think things at work are so bad, just SO very bad, they get worse. It's darkly hilarious to me now that just a few months ago I was worried about vital programs not working, about not being adequately trained, and more recently about having a smaller desk in a noisier place.

I have always struggled with how much to write about my job. I wouldn't want to be Dooced. And really, people whining about incomprehensible corporate policies, their annoying co-workers quoting nonsense from Fox News, or the unfairness of being passed over for a raise is, typically, pretty boring, right? Blah blah blah. Who cares.

"Oh, you hate your job? There's a support group for that, it's called everybody, and they meet at the bar." ~ Drew Carey

I've spent 16 years at this company working at a job that is good enough. It's not my life's work, I've never felt that it was any kind of calling. I look at lists of numbers and put numbers into reports and spreadsheets. It's not like I'm saving people's lives or anything. It's not meaningful.

Next week I'm driving up to Georgia to visit Mom. I wonder if I ought to cancel the trip, but I can't, she's looked forward to it for so long, and I know that she would be deeply disappointed. So would I. I'll drive back on Friday, and be home with my sweetie for my birthday on Saturday.

Then back at work for whatever Monday brings.

I'll be 46 years old. Everything is changing.

David Bowie performing Changes live 1973

Georgia

Last week I set off for Gainesville, Ga early in the morning on Thursday. It was a lovely sunny Florida morning -- off I go!



I went to celebrate my Dad's 92nd birthday, and I got to see my sister and her husband (and her son and his new wife, whom I have never met before last week). My brother was there, and his daughter and her two daughters. We all went out for a steak lunch on Saturday. I took Dad several fancy cigars as a present.

I stayed in the Guest Room at Mom and Dad's retirement home, which is like an apartment building. It's a nice enough Guest Room, it has a little refrigerator and tv and stuff. Oddly, it doesn't have a phone, but my cell phone gets a little reception there, so it's okay.

Guest Room:


Dad once again brought up my writing his obituary. I have to admit, I haven't finished writing it from when I was there in March. He changed his mind, though, and decided to take out all of the stuff about his college degree (from Va Tech) and his time in the military (he served in the Army during World War II) and just leave in the stuff about his family and his dedication to the church. He also helped me figure out what to say for Mom's obituary, and he made me write down a list of things to do when either of them passes away, like who to call and what documents to file, etc.

Mom spent a lot of time trying to give me stuff, like old pictures and mementos, and cards from people who are no longer with us, and book and vases and things.

We had a good visit, despite all the talk of death. I guess when you are 90(ish), talking about it is better than not talking about it.

Early Sunday morning Mom and Dad and I went out for breakfast at the IHOP, and then I headed off to Florida in the gray Georgia morning.



Somehow I didn't have to pee as often as usual during the trip back, and I made it with only one stop (in Tifton, GA, which is almost exactly half-way between Orlando and Gainesville).

I have made this trip a zillion or so times, and it seems like it is always the same: gray cloudiness in GA, then rain as soon as I cross the FL border, then sunshine when I get closer to Orlando.

Woo! Back in Orlando at last!