Free Again

A:  Catching a glimpse of Mom scurrying from the living room into the bathroom, in her wheelchair.

Q: What image will you remember most about your beloved mother? 

Back in November, I entered her apartment and was shocked by what I saw.  My mamma, who had been wheelchair bound for a couple of years, had morphed into a most energized and fixated athlete, utilizing her powerful arms to propel her wheelchair to move at lightning speed.   

I had a feeling something had been going on in recent weeks based on the newly-battered doorways which were perfect when mom first moved in.  It seemed rather strange that they'd look so weathered in just a couple of months, but I assumed at some point I'd figure it out.  It became clear when I saw her flying around:  sometimes her navigation was off a bit.

Watching Mom maneuver her wheelchair with boundless determination provoked mixed emotions in me: 1 - I felt sad that she was most likely painfully aware of her physical limitations, and 2 - I felt happy that she was then, as she always had been, a woman on a mission. 

What completely thrilled me was to see that Florence got her mojo back. 

I learned a couple weeks before my mom passed, but after I had mentioned to one of the nurses that I saw her flying around, that the staff viewed her as a "fall risk" between 1 and 4 pm - after lunch and before dinner, when she was most often hanging out, often on her own.  They checked in on her more often during that time period but always reminded her to press the pendant and then WAIT for assistance before she decided to take matters into her own hands.

When her more vulnerable time of day was brought to my attention, I spoke with my mom about adding a caregiver for that time frame, in addition to the morning and nighttime hours when she also had extra help. She resisted this suggestion at first which did not surprise me as I knew she was very happy to have unloaded the 24/7 help that she had for 3 years.  I said, "Fine mom, but then you have to WAIT for help when you press your pendant, ok?"

She never answered any of the times I asked her to confirm the instructions.  Instead, each time, she'd just stare me down.  I knew this meant "I'll do what I want, and if that means I want to take myself to the bathroom or move from one chair to another, then you're not going to tell me otherwise."  Besides, she wasn't going to take direction from her youngest child. 

It would frustrate me to no end that she wouldn't wait for help, even though at first I was annoyed that the wait could be quite lengthy, almost forcing her to proceed without assistance.  I soon learned that regardless of the wait times, my mom had no intention of asking for help to do the things she at one time did on her own.  It finally clicked:  my mom was reveling in her regained freedom.

For the first time in years, she didn't have round-the-clock care hovering over her, and she was willing to take the risk. If she fell, she fell. At least it - her life, essentially - would be on her terms.

It made perfect sense that such an independent woman would feel that way.  I just didn't like it.

If I'm lucky enough to live such a long, full life, I will most likely turn into my mom, if I haven't already.