Here is my entry for the inspirational writing contest. Just under the wire!
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My mam took the bus for the first time today.
One of the selling points to convince her to move into assisted living was that she could take their regularly scheduled transportation to get to places she needs to go, and someone would make sure she got there and back safely.
She hasn’t been able to drive herself since that day in April when she got lost coming home from the church she’s attended for 20 years to the house where she’d lived for 10 years and was — thankfully — found by a Good Samaritan before she wandered off into the Arizona desert.
Her neurologist says the mild cognitive impairment she has now nearly always turns into Alzheimers disease, given enough time. Mam’s 81. I guess she has enough time.
So we got her moved into the assisted living apartment last week, and today was her first day to go somewhere on the bus with the other oldsters. I was nervous when she called me 10 minutes before the excursion to say the internet installation guy was there — and I reminded her, she needed to get going, for the bus.
Five minutes later she called me back; she was going down to the bus.
I forgot to remind her to take her cell phone. I did remind her to take her purse. I wondered how it was going: did she meet a friend to sit with on the bus? Did they help her get on and off safely? Did they make sure she got back on the bus to come home?
Jesus never gave me any children of my own, and I’ve been pretty mad about that off and on for a long time. I never got to wonder if my own little daughter had a friend to sit with on the school bus or whether my own little son got back on board when it was time to come home.
It seems downright unfair to me to have to worry over these questions, now, regarding my mam ... the one who first worried about the same questions over me ...
But she made it okay. She called me when she got home. I guess she’s going to do all right there in her new place. She didn’t want to move, but she said she’d try it, for my sake. Huh — for me, because she knows I worry about her.
Isn’t love a wonderful thing?
Given the choice, she wouldn’t have moved into “a home” for anything ... but when she realized that I would feel better about it, that I would have more peace, and I would be less worried, then she marshaled her courage and made the move. For me, because she loves me. And because she’s my mam.
___________________________________
My mam took the bus for the first time today.
One of the selling points to convince her to move into assisted living was that she could take their regularly scheduled transportation to get to places she needs to go, and someone would make sure she got there and back safely.
She hasn’t been able to drive herself since that day in April when she got lost coming home from the church she’s attended for 20 years to the house where she’d lived for 10 years and was — thankfully — found by a Good Samaritan before she wandered off into the Arizona desert.
Her neurologist says the mild cognitive impairment she has now nearly always turns into Alzheimers disease, given enough time. Mam’s 81. I guess she has enough time.
So we got her moved into the assisted living apartment last week, and today was her first day to go somewhere on the bus with the other oldsters. I was nervous when she called me 10 minutes before the excursion to say the internet installation guy was there — and I reminded her, she needed to get going, for the bus.
Five minutes later she called me back; she was going down to the bus.
I forgot to remind her to take her cell phone. I did remind her to take her purse. I wondered how it was going: did she meet a friend to sit with on the bus? Did they help her get on and off safely? Did they make sure she got back on the bus to come home?
Jesus never gave me any children of my own, and I’ve been pretty mad about that off and on for a long time. I never got to wonder if my own little daughter had a friend to sit with on the school bus or whether my own little son got back on board when it was time to come home.
It seems downright unfair to me to have to worry over these questions, now, regarding my mam ... the one who first worried about the same questions over me ...
But she made it okay. She called me when she got home. I guess she’s going to do all right there in her new place. She didn’t want to move, but she said she’d try it, for my sake. Huh — for me, because she knows I worry about her.
Isn’t love a wonderful thing?
Given the choice, she wouldn’t have moved into “a home” for anything ... but when she realized that I would feel better about it, that I would have more peace, and I would be less worried, then she marshaled her courage and made the move. For me, because she loves me. And because she’s my mam.
