Friday, April 5, 2013

Mom's Vision of Her 90th Birthday


Saturday, September 03, 2011

Dear Suzy and Jonathan,
                Kathy and I had lunch together, so we had the chance to talk about Mom.  I’m sending her a copy of this anyway, but I’m addressing it to you.
                Mom seemed to be walking in a circle when I got there in the Perry section.  I spotted her going into the dining room and walked in the door to greet her, but she in the meantime walked out, so I ran after her, and this time I said I had to go to the bathroom.  She let me, and then she went, and when I asked her about her teeth, we found them and she put them in.  When I suggested going to the garden, she said, “But if we go out this door, they won’t let us come back.”  That was in contrast to what she would say later about the door being the door where, when you walk in, you can’t come out again—similar to what she told me on Tuesday, when she said that that was the door that took her to where she didn’t want to be.
                But now that she was expressing fear that she wouldn’t be able to return, I assured her that we would be able to get back in, and I’d be with her, but we could check with the staff if she wanted to hear it from them.
                She wanted to go to the bathroom, she said, but it was locked, so I told her we’d go to the garden, and then we could come back to the bathroom when no one else was in it.
                Once we were out in the garden everything went better.  She first said, “Well, let’s read the book,” but I’d forgotten my bag of goodies in the car, so I told her that maybe we should just talk first.  I commented about how beautiful everything was in the garden.
                “How about if you stay out here, and I’ll go in.” 
                “But I came to see you.  I just want to see you in the most beautiful place possible.  And you wrote an Advanced Health Care Directive and said you wanted to be outdoors as much as possible.”
                “But maybe there’s a place inside where we could go outdoors.”
                “There is.  There’s a patio you can go to every day if you want to.  So I thought we’d come here today.”
                Mother looked at her watch and said, “Well, we’ll stay out here until five—until noon.”  (She can still tell time!)  Then she commented on the bird drinking from the fountain, and I took a picture.  I said, “That’s a hummingbird,” and she said, “Write that down.”
                I didn’t have any paper, so I wrote it on a newspaper page, and that’s where I also took notes as we talked about her 90th birthday party, which was what we talked about right after we talked about Bahrain.
                Mom said, “Read that,” pointing to the newspaper I’d grabbed from her room.   “March honors teen killed during protest,” and I said, “You know, Mom, it’s not very good news.  This isn’t a very pleasant part of the newspaper.  A kid got killed for protesting against his government.”
                “Do you mean the government was killing its own people?” she asked.
                “Yes.”
                “Where?”
                I didn’t say, “Take your pick.”  I said, “Bahrain.  I’m not sure how to pronounce it.”
                “Let me see…It’s rain with a bah in front of it.”
                “Right.”
                “Maybe that’s the boy who got killed,” she said, pointing to the model for the ½ page Macy’s ad on jockey shorts.
                “I don’t think so, but he was probably about the same age.”
                There was nothing I could read from the section we had of the newspaper:  not the blast in Cupertino or the animal shelters that were, along with the economy,  “going to the dogs.”  I wanted to read her an animal story, but the zoo animals that have been collateral damage in Tripoli didn’t seem like a good choice, and I was afraid to leave the garden to get my book from the car.  The article on the 9/11 anniversary with the headline, “Where have we come?  Who are we now?” wasn’t likely to be too upbeat either.  Mother said something about how people weren’t camouflaging things as much,  so there might be less corruption, and I let her keep that thought.
                I had wanted to talk to everybody about Mom’s 90th birthday celebration, and I wanted to have an idea of how Mom envisioned it beyond her seeing herself as a witch.  She said, “It’s going to be at her house.  At our house.  So we’ll have to decorate the house.”
                “And you want to have it on Halloween, right?”
                She said, “I don’t think that’s a wholesome idea because people will have obligations to their own families that day.”
                 Wholesome.
                “It doesn’t have to be on Halloween itself.  It could be a weekend around Halloween.  What kind of party would you like to have?”
                “Stay at home and have my friends come.”
                “Do you want to make a guest list?”
                “When I moved away, I moved away from my friends, too,” she said.  “I don’t remember their names.”
                “Well, there’s Ethel and Nan.  And then the family.  Kathy  of course, and Suzy and Jonathan and Karl.  What would you like to say on the invitations?”
                “Something cheery.  ‘It’s not everybody that can be a bossy 90-year-old, but I do so want you to come.’”
                “’And be bossed,’” I suggested, and Mom smiled.    “What time would you like to have it?”
                “Oh, ten-ish.”
                “Ten-ish in the morning?”
                “Or two-ish.”
                “And how long would you like it to be?”
                “As long as people want to stay.”
                “And what would you like to do during the party?”
                “Maybe Suzy has some games that you can play in the round.  And everybody can think of a memory.  Nadine can be the…what?  Marquee?”
                “Well, we could all write our memories on a page too, so you could have the memory book of what everybody says.  And you could say something if you want to.”
                “I think I’ll say ‘We’ve had other events here  including birthday parties of many of you here today.’”
                “That sounds good!  Because it’s true.  We’ve had parties for you and Kathy and Suzy and Jonathan and Karl.  Lots of the people who will be there.”
                Mom said something I can’t remember about not being too strict.  About twelve  occasions in all these years.  Then she looked around the garden and said, “I enjoyed planning in this forest of lilac bushes.” 
                Then it was noon.  So I walked Mom back into the lobby and down the hall, but when we got to the door, she said again, “I don’t want to go in there.  That’s where I can’t get out!”
                I put my arms around Mom and told her that it was lunch time, and after lunch time there’d be an activity, and she could come out with the staff.  We’d talk to them and be sure.
                One of the aids was in the hall, so I told her, “You know, it’s time for lunch, but my mother doesn’t want to go in the door because she’s afraid that they won’t let her out again.”
                “Oh, then eat in there,” she said sympathetically, pointing to the other dining room—the one for the better functioning members.
                “That sounds better,” Mom said, heading towards it, but I knew that I’d have to plan ahead for that, so I coaxed her into the dreaded door, and she said something like, “You’re delivering me,” which I took to mean not that I was accompanying her but that she was a Jew hiding in the attic, and I was turning her in.  I promised that I’d be back after lunch, and I’d see to it that she got out the door.  I told the aides inside the door about Mom’s concern.  Then they let her choose between two plates, and Mom said, “It doesn’t make any difference.”  Then she was seated with Franz, Carol, and Ella Mae. 
                “This is where I ate breakfast.  These are the people I ate breakfast with,” Mom said, not very happily.  “Goodbye.”
                I kissed her and said goodbye and that I’d be back, which I was, bearing a vanilla milk shake, after Kathy and I had lunch and talked about all this.
                As I told Kathy, Mom told me about three years ago that she thought she would live to be ninety, and I think that’s probably about right.  I think it’s quite possible—even likely—that this will be her last birthday, and that that’s for the best, what Mom wants, what I would want in her place.  She’s lost 6 pounds since August, and I think that, while we want to encourage her to eat (and she did like that vanilla milk shake!), she might just choose not to.  But I think she wants to have a 90th birthday party, and I think there are things we can do so that her dream of having her 90th birthday,  the way she envisioned, can come true, including having it on Poshard Street.  But we’ll also reserve the room at Aegis, and we might even be able to have the party on Poshard and then continue it back at Aegis.  
                Kathy’s spoken to Dee about a change of roommate, since Kay is usually mean, and Dee, who was very sympathetic, suggested that Kathy contact Sonia and ask for an appointment—maybe Tuesday—so that they can be more specific than “We’re looking into it.”  As Kathy was saying, we’d rather be told that they have to wait for someone to die than to be made vague promises. 
                Kathy also said that yesterday Mom played in the main living room when their scheduled entertainment didn’t show up.  After playing about five pieces, Mom stood up and said, “Thank you, but that’s all for today.”  Kathy led the applause, but Carol and Doris didn’t have to be prompted. 
                Kathy showed me where two parks are not far from Aegis, and then we picked up a big vanilla milk shake at Wendy’s.  When I got back to Mom’s room, she was on the bed, and Kay was in her armchair, and they were having what seemed a really nice conversation.  I gave Mom the milk shake, which she didn’t seem to mind eating in front of Kay, and Kay didn’t seem to mind either.  Kay let me take her (Kay’s) hand.  I told Mom that I’d be back on Monday, and I left them in what seemed to be peace.
                On my way out, I talked to Suzette about eating with Mom in the other (for the better-functioning) dining room, and she said that would be fine.  All I have to do is stop by the desk when I go in on Monday, and Mom and I can eat there, which I think will be a nice change.  Kathy says that Francis Dean is often in there eating with his family.  We could also invite, say, Sylvia, to join us, so that someone whose head isn’t forever bowed can eat with us, too. 
                (When Suzette asked what Mom’s name was, I said, “Nadine” and then gave it the French pronunciation as Suzette had once done, and soon we were speaking in French, which she really wanted to do.  She told me she was desperate to speak French because the one person who spoke it at Aegis had died.  So…I’ll practice my French with her and maybe put her in touch with the French-speaking community I learned about recently.)
                So…I’ll go back on Labor Day and take Mom to lunch outside the door she doesn’t want to go in.  Happy Labor Day weekend! 

                Love,
                Tina/Mom

PS  I hope you two have a good time kayaking, Suzy and Kathy.  You both deserve a change of scene!



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