Did the Right Thing
We got the house all cleaned out, though the garage is piled sky-high with their things.
The carpet cleaner came in today. "Human urine all over carpets" in mom's bedroom, his text said. Will do my best, but can't promise, he added.
This is so sad. The loss of dignity. She's been complaining of wetting the bed in her facility, said a therapist opened all of the windows in her room because of the smell. Is in diapers. But clearly has been incontinent for a long time.
So I cry hard over that.
But there's another feeling: relief. Because if she hasn't had this function for some time, and couldn't change her sheets or shower or the other things, we did the right thing getting her into a facility.
I'm sad it took an emergency surgery and a global pandemic to do it, but I'm glad she's in one now.
I'm not glad she's in one now.
I'm relieved she's there. I'm relieved we didn't try to move her in with us. I feel like I should have tried that.
But we couldn't have made it work. I'm not a nurse. I can't handle her massive medication regimen, or her mental illness. I work full-time and have kids and a small house. And frankly, my mom and I didn't get along that well when she was at her peak. We couldn't have done it. We would have just ended up back where we are now, all worse for the wear.
But the guilt persisted nonetheless, and hearing about the pee-soaked carpets sort of relieved that.
The house will go on the market this weekend, with an allowance for new carpets. My brother will box up the garage bit by bit. We'd both rather get rid of everything in it, but baby steps with my stepdad at this point, who remains super-attached to all the things and, I think, to some hope that everything will eventually go back the way it was. The compromise: some forward momentum is better than none. It will all go in storage as the next step. I'd like to help box things but we can't properly social distance while doing it and it causes too much friction to try. So my brother will do it and that just has to be okay.
The carpet cleaner came in today. "Human urine all over carpets" in mom's bedroom, his text said. Will do my best, but can't promise, he added.
This is so sad. The loss of dignity. She's been complaining of wetting the bed in her facility, said a therapist opened all of the windows in her room because of the smell. Is in diapers. But clearly has been incontinent for a long time.
So I cry hard over that.
But there's another feeling: relief. Because if she hasn't had this function for some time, and couldn't change her sheets or shower or the other things, we did the right thing getting her into a facility.
I'm sad it took an emergency surgery and a global pandemic to do it, but I'm glad she's in one now.
I'm not glad she's in one now.
I'm relieved she's there. I'm relieved we didn't try to move her in with us. I feel like I should have tried that.
But we couldn't have made it work. I'm not a nurse. I can't handle her massive medication regimen, or her mental illness. I work full-time and have kids and a small house. And frankly, my mom and I didn't get along that well when she was at her peak. We couldn't have done it. We would have just ended up back where we are now, all worse for the wear.
But the guilt persisted nonetheless, and hearing about the pee-soaked carpets sort of relieved that.
The house will go on the market this weekend, with an allowance for new carpets. My brother will box up the garage bit by bit. We'd both rather get rid of everything in it, but baby steps with my stepdad at this point, who remains super-attached to all the things and, I think, to some hope that everything will eventually go back the way it was. The compromise: some forward momentum is better than none. It will all go in storage as the next step. I'd like to help box things but we can't properly social distance while doing it and it causes too much friction to try. So my brother will do it and that just has to be okay.
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