Mom has been re-evaluated by the folks where she was living and deemed inappropriate for their facility. Or, rather, that they are not capable of meeting her increasing needs. She’s a fall risk, which scares the bejesus out of them (and should), she needs frequent pain meds, yadda-yadda.
At any rate, next week she will be admitted to the rehab facility as a full-pay resident (ka-ching, ka-ching!) and moved into their memory care unit which, despite what they profess, is a depressing place. The rooms are creepily small, dressers and closets being shared between two roommates. (I’ve already pared her belongings down to almost nothing. I’m expected to do it again?) I’m hopeful that they will be able to shift her to one of the bigger rooms soon, so she will at least have a window where she can look out. Yes, they’re basically cells and it’s a shitty way for anyone to have to end out their days. On the upside, from what I’ve seen, the care is extremely good. They’d better be, or holy Hell will result.
Anyway, that’s where we are on the emotional rollercoaster. I was lamenting to myself yesterday how much her life has been diminished – she’s lost her husband, her home, most of her belongings. And then I thought – No. Those are things all lost eventually in the passage of life. SHE is not lost. She is fading, yes; diminished, yes, I suppose she is. But SHE – the core of the woman who is my mother – remains and will remain until she draws her last breath. And that – THAT – is what I hang onto.