If Mom had asked me, I would have chosen safe for her. But she didn't ask me. When I asked her what she wanted, she chose freedom.
It's not a huge surprise. After the two moves over the summer (to the retirement home and six weeks later, back to the condo), she's pretty clear now that safe is nice, but free is better.
Free when you are 86 is not the same as free when you are in your 50s, 60s, or even 70s. Now that her doctor, DMV (and I) have taken away her car keys, her circle of life has narrowed to the condo complex.
She phones in her grocery orders to me. I fetch and carry. I forget things, but I don't complain to her. How can I complain when her brain has gone AWOL? What's my excuse? Just stress. I complain to my younger brother, Chuck.
Mom and Chuck are not talking. When Mom moved out of her condo, she left behind boxes of old photos, cards, letters, and memorabilia. Chuck took the stuff to his house to sort, thinking Mom had abandoned it all, and it was bound for the trash. Chuck sorted out the stuff and found many things he thought were too great to toss: Mom and Dad's wedding announcement, negatives from our childhood, postcards from around the world. Along comes Christmas and suddenly Mom wants some blank holiday cards she is certain were in one of those boxes. She demanded the boxes be returned. She complained to me when the boxes did not arrive immediately. I emailed Chuck: for the love of god, give her the damn boxes. Chuck brought her the boxes. Last time I saw her, she had sorted a bunch of old negatives and photos into the trash can.
“Mom, Chuck wanted all that stuff!” I said, trying not to sound too aghast and failing.
She frowned at me. “What?”
“Chuck spent hours sorting through all those photos,” I said. “He wanted to keep that stuff. He was going to give them to me to scan!”
“Oh.” Her expression was a mix of chagrin and belligerence. Kind of like a two-year-old caught writing on the wall with permanent marker.
I took the paper sack of stuff to the kitchen and wrote in big letters on the side: “Keep for Chuck!”
“Don't throw this away!” I admonished her.
“All right, all right.” She meant get off my back. We silently declared a truce. I hugged her and told her I loved her.
It's New Year's Eve. She had a lunch date today with a bunch of condo ladies. That's good. It's late now. I was busy doing end-of-year stuff and forgot to call her. I'll call her tomorrow. I hope when she's sitting out on her patio tonight, smoking a cigarette in 30° frosty air, that she catches a glimpse of the northern lights and feels free.
