Those damn faucet handles

for sale

A blah morning with Mom. I found her asleep at the breakfast table with the newspaper in her lap. She was freshly dressed and her hair was wet from washing, and I woke her and we went down to chapel. Between us we had no energy, Mom hanging bent over in the wheelchair, though she summoned enough umph to mouth along with the liturgy and hymns she knew. When the service ended, I asked her if she wanted to go to brunch or just go back to the room, and she said brunch.

"I need to try to come alive," she said.

Julie had taken her to the pool yesterday and it was regenerating and exhausting, and I wondered if she was still tired from it. Julie tried to hold her hand as they walked through the water, and Mom pulled free and said, "I can do it." The walking problem disappears when there's water to hold her up.

Julie said when she arrived, Mom asked, "Where's your husband?" Did she know my name or not? And when they were done, Mom asked, "Should I drive myself home?"

She's got a new aide, now -- Maria, who comes every weekday morning. As far as I can tell, she's taken her to the gym, and gets her up and into an exerbike, although it's hard to confirm that. They do the tennis game, at the very least, and read devotions. Mom still mourns the loss of Debbie, but this is a better, more active arrangement, I think.

So we had a little crew of women come this week and evaluate and tag all the stuff we want to sell. They'll put it on eBay or some other sites and as it starts to go, this move push will start to feel more real. We want to downsize and go downtown, to a condo or apartment, where we don't have to do any upkeep, where we can walk to get groceries or get to church, and the space is manageable.  We've looked at lot of places, but nothing is firm and we're several months away -- painting, etc., left to do.

Earlier in this whole move idea, it felt too much for me, with Mom, work, and the things I really want to do, like bike and write. I didn't want to lose my garage (bike-repair space), my writing office, my habits, but Julie, wanting to shed possessions and all the worry that accompanies them, has pushed it along. If we get the right place, it'll work out. Even I will appreciate not having to continually tighten the faucet handles.