While my mother was on a trip to see my sister in Portland, I went to her apartment to sort through her kitchen and take some unnecessary things away. When she came home, I showed her a new telephone and a tidy apartment. She insisted that "they" had followed her to Portland, and that they knew about her trip by listening to her phone calls. On her last day there, they apparently stole two dollars and a pair of her panties. My sister said that the two dollars was found in her purse, but Mom insisted that it wasn't true.
So negotiations with her doctor about the possibility of a care home began. Gradually we convinced her to consider a care home, and I began taking her on tours of various options. I began to get discouraged, as she gave all kinds of reasons to refuse the choices.
I met my second husband in 2006, thanks to a blind date situation set up by my favourite cousin, Judy. To her, Darrell seemed a lot like my own father, a quiet, steady man who loved fixing cars. Darrell was a master Volvo technician. I agreed with Judy, and Darrell and I quickly fell in love.
I introduced my mother to Darrell at an ice cream shop, one summer afternoon. She loved him immediately and was very happy for me. I even invited him along to a family gathering at Rossmere Golf Club, to celebrate her eightieth birthday.
Things went fairly smoothly, and we were married on July 20th, 2007. The next month, when I went to my mother's apartment, I found her in bed, unable to get up, go to the washroom or feed herself. It was fixed in her mind that now Faye was married, I would no longer help her, take her shopping or visit her.
None of it was true of course, but that is what she believed. I now had someone who would help both of us, but couldn't convince her. She was dehydrated, and physically, I couldn't help her get to the washroom, so I resorted to putting towels under her so that she could relieve herself.
At wit's end, I called an ambulance and they took her to the hospital. However, they couldn't find anything physically wrong with her, so they sent her home again. I had to stay with her, since she couldn't do anything for herself.
The next morning I called her doctor for advice. Dr. Heather told me to call the ambulance again. This time I refused to allow her to be taken home, since I couldn't be full time with her and change diapers. It was a ridiculous situation.
In the end, she was transferred temporarily to a convalescent home. She was very frightened there at first, being in a crowded room with three other people. She thought she had been sent to hell. Gradually as she was beginning to eat again and to walk about, she got to know others around her. She was doing so much better in the end that she said, "They treat me like a queen! I don't want to be a queen. I want to be a normal person." I laughed at that, glad that she didn't hate me.
She actually fell in love with one of her fellow patients. Apparently he sat with her a lot, and she felt wanted. But by March of that year, she was finally transferred to her favourite care home. She then didn't want to leave her new boyfriend!
Concordia Place was a lot closer to my home, and she had privacy in her own room with her own telephone and she was close to the dining area and amenities. My sister was able to call her whenever she wanted to.
What a load off of my shoulders. Mom then became consumed with affection for the local chaplain, a handsome younger man. She doted on him, and if he glanced her way while he preached at services, she was so happy. Darrell and I were once again able to take her on Sundays to our church and out to restaurants whenever we could.
Life was very good for a long time.
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