Lost and Found

In recent months, I have felt a sense of loss as far as family goes. The events with my mom and her health have certainly brought my sister and me closer. I never could have made it through the last four months without her love and support. However, I felt a deep sense of loss with the rest of my family. My mom has just not been my mom. With the head injury came much confusion. While it is getting better, I don’t feel like I have “my mom” back yet. Decisions regarding my mom’s care have driven a wedge into my relationship with my dad. All of this has created a deep sense of loss and much sadness. While both my parents are certainly still alive, I have lost the people they once were. I was reminded of the expression the other day that when God closes a door He opens a window somewhere. This could not be more true for me. As my mom has settled into life at the nursing home, I have discovered a second family of sorts. The staff, residents, and other family members at the nursing home have become a family to me and my sister. When I haven’t been to the nursing home for a few days, I find myself not only missing my mom, but missing the rest of my family there as well. The staff that care for my mom have grown very fond of her. I have this in common with them. They are very approachable and know my mom’s daily health far better than anyone else. They are quick to answer any questions I have and go beyond a simple answer to share the bigger picture of her health. They have eased worries and celebrated successes just as a family member would. The family members of the residents and I have a special bond that comes from shared difficulty. They all know how hard it is to move a family member into a nursing home. They know how difficult it is to see someone you love so deeply struggling with the loss of so much due to illness or disability. While we may not talk about it, we all know the pain and sorrow we have felt. And we all respect in one another the determination to simply be there as much as we can. There are the few family members that we see on a regular basis. The wife there feeding her husband every day, the daughter there for lunch with her mom, or the husband that spends his days by his wife’s side, watching the news and reading the paper. I have grown to think of these people as extensions of my own family. If they are not there for a day, I step in and talk at lunch, or say hello, or offer a smile to their loved one. The residents have found a special place in my heart. They each have their own reason for being in the nursing home, and their own challenges associated with those reasons. I have had the same conversation with Virginia and Agnes a hundred times. But I have found comfort in the predictability of this daily routine. I have reminded myself with a few residents that when you get to be in your 90s, you have earned the right to be bossy or grouchy, and I smile when they assert this right. I have found a special place in my heart for George, who is overcoming the challenges of having a stroke each and every day. He maintains as much independence as he possibly can and always has a thumbs up and a smile for me. George has taught me that I have more compassion than I knew I had, and I will be grateful to him for that for the rest of my life. All of these people are the windows that God has opened for me. I know that my mom will not be in the nursing home forever. At the rate she is improving, we are hopeful that she will be improved enough to move on at the end of winter or early spring. And when that time comes, it will be bittersweet. While I will certainly feel joy that she is getting better, I will feel sadness for all the people I will miss. But when the time comes, I may simply have a new spot to visit for lunch some days, with my family.