While out and about Monday afternoon got a call from Mom's hospital social worker that one of the nursing homes my brothers researched had an opening. She tells me Medicare no longer pays to transport patients. Nuts, and so much for an easy day. Called husband, texted brother here, hustled home from grocery store, put a goodly amount of her clothes into a bag, ate a sandwich, out the door. My husband, who's awesome and frankly, more giving to my difficult mom than my brothers, drove us.
The social worker says...'We'll have your mom all ready when you get here.' If ready means mom's discharge papers are in her room, she's right. If she means Mom will be dressed, a wheelchair waiting and ready to go out the door, she misled. Mom was asleep in bed, wearing a hospital gown. Called nurse to help me dress her. Asked for wheelchair. An hour later we're all loaded.
Love the nursing home, let me just say. Catholic, older building she's in, religious art everywhere, awesome. Let her stay.
Only glitch is maybe having to reapply for Medicaid. Suggest to oldest brother that he ask about it when he visited her yesterday. Did he? No. He's all focused on her getting a VA pension from my dad's WWII service. Great, but spread that out a little bit. Help with what's in front of us. Let me back off and you really be in charge. Truly, if I can't get an appointment today with the business office person there (the girls and I go to a new family orientation at noon-time) I'm dumping this in my brother's lap.
I'm done. The young woman in admissions had a bright look on her face when she asked Monday if we'd be regular visitors. I get where she's heading, but might tell her today that our household might be taking a wee break from Mom. Please.
My girls have shared the last couple of days about how they've felt about having Mom here these past 8 months. Our youngest, who just turned 15, says it makes her feel like she's had to grow up too fast. There's anger, frustration and a touch of bitterness from my other girls. Our son is more philosophical, maybe because his contact with Mom, simply because he's male, was minimal.
Hard to know how to help them heal. My mom wasn't just a sweet old lady who needed us. She was a manipulative, spoiled old woman who relished being served. Criticisms covered in false sweetness.
My emotions are mixed. Conflicted. Middle daughter says I have issues with guilt and shame. Bingo. But do you know how it feels for your child to tell you that? My amazing perceptive children.
I want us all to heal. To have space. Recovery. It's like a dark storm invaded our home, leaving bits of sadness in its wake. Mental debris.
Looking forward to the holiday weekend. Turning off brain, along with all the guilt and shame. My girls need to see me being strong, not victimized by my mom, even from a distance, or from my oftentimes lame brothers.