Mom in North Dakota, Sept. 2010
Mom’s almost 90. She’s bright, independent and social. She’s also frail and tiny. On the rare occasion she goes out in the evening, she lets me know ahead of time. This is because everyone, from local family to relatives from back east, will call me worrying if they can’t reach her after dark.
So when I called around five on Sunday night and she didn’t answer, I figured she was indisposed and would call back. She didn’t. An hour later, she didn’t answer either her cell or landline, so I drove over to her house (four blocks away). Her windows were dark but the porch light was on. I figured she went somewhere with her friends and forgot to tip us off.
Over the next couple hours, I phoned a few more times, and then let my sister know. Karen was concerned. “Have you gone inside her house?” she asked. Feeling like a jerk, I let myself in and checked every room and closet. The car was home, so I checked inside that, too. Looking out the patio slider, I was grateful to note she was not lying in a crumpled heap outside, and in fact, the door was locked, further evidence she’d gone out. As I drove back home, I noted a Christmas program going on at the Lodge, which is the clubhouse for our 55+ community. Probably she was inside, I told Karen.
It was unlike Mom not to keep us posted. She’s very responsible and thoughtful. Over the next few hours, Karen and I called and left a few more messages. Nothing.
Pretty soon it was 9:30, and I called Karen back. “What are we going to do if she hasn’t turned up by 10 when the Lodge closes?” I asked. Karen said, “Why don’t you go inside and see if she’s there?” Smart, but risky: if I showed up at the ballroom, Mom would think something horrible had happened to a family member. Then, when I told her why I was there, she’d be embarrassed in front of her friends.
But maybe I could sneak in, see if she was there, and split, undetected. I put my bra back on, as well as some decent slacks and a dab of lipstick. It was now 9:45. At the Lodge, I parked in front and headed toward the ballroom.
Great timing. The party was ending and a crowd flowed toward me. There she was: the shortest person in a sea of elders, her auburn hair barely visible over someone’s shoulder. I fled to the car, leapt in, and drove down one of the parking aisles, where I shut off the lights and waited to make sure it was her. It was dark, but her walk is distinctive after that broken leg of three years ago, and she has a slight hunch from osteoporosis. Then I saw the glint of her cane, and knew I could relax.
I called Karen. “Found her!” I said, laughing at my sneakiness, all for the purpose of ensuring Mom’s safety without her feeling impeded. Karen asked, “What is she doing now?” Suddenly angry, I said, “She’s crossing the parking lot with her old biddy friends!” I was mad with relief. Then I got the idea to race over to her house and watch to make sure she got in okay. I parked on her street, stalking her again, feeling like an inept spy.
She never showed.
I drove around back, thinking she might have gone in through the garage. Nope. I circled her neighborhood for a few fruitless minutes, but assumed she went over to a friend’s house for a snack. I drove home, mumbling and cursing to myself. And there she was, in the back seat of her friend’s little car. They were on my street, looking at Christmas lights. I managed to get inside my garage undetected.
It was after ten. I went to bed. “She okay?” mumbled Bill from under the covers. “Fine. She’s out partying.” It was, after all, my fault and my success that Mom had come to this. I was the one who lobbied hard for her to move to my community. “You’ll have friends,” I’d said. “There are always activities at the Lodge. You’ll never be bored or lonely.” Now, three years after moving away from her beloved home in the high desert, she was thriving, independent, and social.
And her kids were freaking out, acting like they were the parents.
The next day, she was slightly defensive. “I figured you wouldn’t call,” was her argument, but we both know that’s a load of hooey. I said I was glad she had friends and a social life, and that we kids put her through more than this when we were teenagers. We laughed and changed the subject. She’ll never know how upset I was. If my elderly, fragile mother is capable of independence and self-determination, and has all her marbles, I’ll stay out of her way.
Even if she does drive me apeshit.
I can see myself doing this same thing just a few years ago. I miss that independent, social person who used to drive me crazy. She’s still here but she is none of those things anymore.
Oh, Rena, I’m sorry. Thanks for the reality check. I will treasure Mom even more.
Lynn,
I just loved this post. You made me laugh even with your comment on Facebook. I only hope that I can be driving my daughter and sons crazy the way your mother is. What a wonderful gift!
Have a wonderful holiday.
Barbara
You too, Barbara!
Ha! Felt this to a quiver.
My Dad will be ninety in a couple of months. And if I can’t reach him at his room in the Lodge, I freak out. And he’s in a lodge. Surrounded by other seniors, nurses and attendants. I’m so sunk . . .
Diane, isn’t it funny to see how we turn into helicopter kids! Proof of our love for them, anyway.
Your Mum sounds like terrific lady and lucky to have two devoted daughters.
Happy Christmas to all.
Lynda, she’s luckier even than that: a total of 4 devoted kids. We’re just the two who are local. Best wishes to you for the holiday, too.
I just hope I’m as active and feisty as your mom when I’m her age. Then I’ll give my son grief!
We should be so lucky, Sandy!
Love it. Thanks for sharing.
THanks for stopping by, Ann.
You are welcome. I have stopped by before, but couldn’t leave a repy…tech problem then.
What a great story and a great mom! I guess we’ll have to coin a new term, “helicopter children.” Actually, she’s very fortunate to have such caring and devoted daughters.
Janis, you made me laugh out loud. Helicopter children. I should have used that in the title!
Perfect read for a Friday, Lynne — thanks! You’re lucky your mom is so feisty and independent. Much better that than a frail, fearful, clingy “half-person” just waiting to die (and sadly, I’ve known too many like that!). We’re blessed we have such good examples of what LIFE can be, if we just embrace it! Happy Christmas to you and yours!
Thanks, Debbie, and the same to you!
Yes, from reading some of the comments it’s clear I’m not the only one with a feisty Mom. Right after Dad died, she lamented that she now had no purpose. I said she might consider her new purpose to be showing us kids how to live vibrantly at her age. And she has! We are so grateful for her. Except when we want to wring her neck.
LOL this was a great read Lynne.
I totally get what you are saying. While I am only 70, my Daughter is like a Mother Hen and I have to remind her to back off once in a while.
But, on the other hand I am so aware of how much she loves me, and try not to worry her by always checking in and letting her know what I plan on doing and where I am.
Yes, I am independent, and Yes, I am secure in knowing that she worries about me.
It is a trade-off isn’t it?
…..But a wonderful one.
You said it perfectly, Kathleen! It’s a beautiful benefit…with strings attached. But you wouldn’t trade it, would you?
Not for one second Lynne, not for one second.
That was great, Lynne. And it reminded me of when my kids started kindergarten and I would sneak into the school on the first day and peek in the classroom window to make sure they weren’t crying. Of course, that was then, this is now, and I find myself sometimes perplexed when my son or daughters turn to me and say “are you okay, mom?”
I did that sneaking and peeking when my granddaughter went to preschool. Thanks for reminding me. Great memories.
I totally get her! And…my mother is JUST LIKE THAT–86 years old and she bips off at 7:00 p.m. into inner city Modesto to take notes at the church board meeting (she’s the secretary) and to deliver the report on the last meeting. Seedy part of town, dark, rainy, not home until 9:00 p.m. but what’s to worry about? Bad guys better NOT mess with her! … May WE do so well, eh?
I KNOW!! They remind us not to be babies!
You have me laughing out loud on this one, Lynne! I have nothing to add. It’s amazing how the roles reverse. We are both blessed to have our 90-something, hip moms. It’s their feistiness that keeps them going and keeps us on our toes. God bless them, those “greatest generation ” women who continue to amaze us.
Exactly, Kathy! I can’t believe how Mom has me over a barrel. I mean, I’m reasonably intelligent and old enough to match her, move for move, right?
WRONG.
Excellent, a new book in the making.
She’s still mad at me for the last one, for which I mined her stories about being born on a farm in North Dakota.