It’s hard to find the words to explain what the last two months has been like. The stress, denial, acceptance; the explaining.
Mum was sick. Whether it was self-induced or an existing condition is like asking about the chicken or the egg. I want to be open about it for my own selfish reasons, but also to increase awareness, especially to people who are “victims” like me. But I don’t want to hurt anyone by my actions, either (i.e., sorry if all this seems vague and/or obscure).
On the day that mum went into hospital, I sat with her while she was told the cold hard facts of her need to stay in hospital. I watched her eyes as she realised that decisions were being made for her. Mum was only meant to be in hospital for a few days, but complications turned it into a seven-week ordeal. Mum’s medical team cared for her and made her well enough to leave the hospital. They determined that she couldn’t live on her own anymore.
But nursing homes are for Grandmas. Not mums. Not my mum. She’s too young. But we learned what she would need to stay well, and knew that it was for the best. It would mean we could sleep at night knowing that she’s getting the care she needs. And she’s getting that care now. We were so lucky to get mum placed into a facility that can care for her so well. I know so many people who are struggling while they care for their parents who are in a much worse position than mum (and us).
It’s strange that we’ve gone through so many processes that I associate with someone who’s passed away – taking over financials, cancelling the newspaper delivery, emptied out mum’s house – and we’ve even moved through some of the stages of grieving – yet mum’s still sitting in the nursing home, waiting for her next visitor.