Can
an individual’s personality change dramatically? And, if so, how?
You
grow up knowing your mother. Then why would you say . . .
She’s Not My Mother
I’d just
sat down at the kitchen table to eat dinner, when the phone rang. I picked it
up and said, “Hello.”
“Adam,
this is your loving sister, Eve. I’ve got some disturbing news for you.”
“Okay,
Eve, I’m listening.”
“Dad
started a big fight at Mom’s and his social club meeting. It was so bad that he
declared, ‘I’m moving from this ridiculous retirement community. I can’t stand
it anymore.’”
“Don’t
get so upset, Eve. It’ll all blow over.”
“I don’t
think so.”
“Why do
you say that? Things like this have happened before. Mom and Dad are always
complaining about their community, the association, and their friends.”
“But not
like this.”
“What do
you mean?”
“They put
their house up for sale.”
“You’re
pulling my leg, aren’t you?”
“No big
brother, I’m not.”
Three
months later Mom and Dad moved to a senior apartment complex just two miles
from Eve’s home in the San Fernando Valley.
I was
sitting at my computer in my home office in the Bay Area, two weeks after they
moved in, when the phone rang, pushing me out of my mental fog. I grabbed it
and said, “Hello.”
“Adam,
it’s Eve. We’ve got a problem.”
“Another
problem? What kind of problem, Eve?” I said, in a frustrated manner.
“Two of
Mom’s and Dad’s friends have called me twice.”
“So?”
“They
both said they believed there was more to the story that Mom and Dad shared
with me. The fight really wasn’t that big. And the people involved have already
put it behind them.”
“Then why
did they move?”
“I don’t have
any idea. And that’s what scares me.”
“Should I
fly down to you now?”
“Maybe,
or maybe not.”
“Well,
which is it?”
“As you know, your niece’s mother-in-law’s seventieth
birthday is three weeks from today, the Saturday before New Year’s Eve.”
“Yeah.
Betsy and I are coming. It’s a big deal.”
“Yes, a
catered dinner, dancing, and . . .”
“Okay,
maybe it’s best to wait until then to see what’s going on.”
“I think
so.”
“Call me
if there’s more I should know before I come.”
“Will do.
See you at the party.”
Three
weeks passed quickly. The night of the party arrived. Betsy and I walked
through the ballroom doors to soft music and about sixty people standing around
mingling. My eyes perused the room and I saw Dad sitting next to Mom at a large
round table. He was white as a sheet.
We
approached the table. “Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad? How are you doing?”
“Just
fine,” Mom chanted.
“And you,
Dad?” He didn’t respond immediately. And then . . .
“I’m
okay. Just a bit tired.”
Well, the
night was pleasant. We had a good time. And Francis, my niece’s mother-in-law,
was “queen of the ball.”
Dad made
it through the evening and I believed he was just wiped out from his big move. All
was good. We said good night, wished everybody a “Happy New Year,” and the next
day we flew home.
We had a
quiet New Year’s Eve. Then just after noon on New Year’s Day the phone rang. I lifted
it off the living room coffee table and muttered, “Hello.”
“Adam,
sit down.”
“Eve, you
sound weird.”
“Dad’s in
the hospital.”
“What?
Why?”
“He has
terminal cancer. He only has three weeks to live.”
“Oh, my
God! I’m on my way.”
“Adam,
wait! There’s more.”
“More?
How much more can there be? He’s dying.”
“Not Dad,
Mom.”
“Mom?
What about Mom?”
“She’s in
the hospital, too.”
“Well
that’s normal. She should be with Dad.”
“But
she’s not with him.”
“How
could she do that?”
“Because
she’s also a patient in the hospital.”
“What? What
happened?”
“She
stopped taking all her medicines when she found out Dad was dying, about two
months before they moved here. Seems they had an agreement. Either she would
die first, or they would both die together. She had a massive stroke. They
didn’t want us to worry, so they didn’t tell us or anybody else about Dad’s
cancer. That’s why they used the fight as an excuse to leave their retirement
community.”
“I’m on
my way.”
Dad
passed away three days after I arrived. Eve and I settled his affairs and then
focused our attention on Mom. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t honor the
agreement she had with Dad. She survived.
Eve and I
knew she couldn’t live alone. And Eve’s home didn’t have a ground floor
bedroom, so she couldn’t live with her. She needed a walker and someone to
replace Dad, as her support—both physical and mental. She seemed to be aware of
what was going on around her, but it became obvious that she wasn’t all there.
Therefore,
we checked out the assisted living facilities in the area around Eve’s home. We
found one, Garden of Eden Assisted Living, where Eve knew the manager. She had
spent time with Eve’s mother-in-law, as her caregiver. This seemed like the
right place for Mom.
We got
Mom settled in and I went home. I stayed in contact with her by phone, twice a
week. Our conversations were interesting.
“Hi, Mom,
it’s Adam. How are you doing?”
“I’m doing
fine. Who is this?”
“Adam,
Mom.”
“Oh,
Adam! I’m so glad you called. I have so much to tell you.”
“Okay,
tell me.’
“Tell you
what?”
“Well,
let me tell you something. I just bought a new car.”
“That’s
so nice.”
“Do you
want to know how much it cost? It was expensive.”
“That’s fine.”
Her reply
was odd. Mom was not always the most pleasant person to be with. She usually
had adverse opinions about everything. There was only one way to do things—her
way. But now she seemed to have just one negative response, when I answered her
question, “What are you doing this weekend?”
“It’s
that time of the month, Mom,” I said. “Saturday’s our monthly dominoes game.”
“And she
responded loudly, “Oh, boriiiinnng. . . .”
Mom
seemed to have a full life in her assisted living home. She played bingo twice
a week, ate her meals with friends at a table in the dining room, and saw shows
in the small theater. And Eve told me she smiled a lot.
Eve
visited Mom a couple of times each week. At one of her visits, an employee
approached her and said, with a lilt in her voice, “Eve, your mother is such a
wonderful person. She loves everybody and everybody loves her.”
“But
she’s not my mother,” Eve replied.
“Oh, I’m
sorry. Your stepmother is so nice.”
“She’s
not my stepmother, either.”
“I
apologize. I’m glad to have your friend living with us.”
Eve
didn’t reply. Had Mom remained Mom, after she stopped taking her meds, she
would either be the new manager of the assisted living facility or living on
the street.
Copyright
© 2024 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.
