Elena's 7 Circles of Connection
You'd think I'd have enough time on my hands to write abundantly.
I don't.
I'm at the kitchen counter in the apartment I've rented for six months. I just booked a ticket to go back home in August, for my own sanity, though I know it'll be tough for my mom. My upcoming break is end of May. Then Lisa comes back with me in June.
I'm hoping Elena (my mom) will connect the dots between my absence, and her increasingly difficult time obtaining vital things: groceries, pharmacy products, whatever else. If she can agree to the simple idea of having a helper, even once a week, who will take care of those tiny but crucial things, she can live at home. So far no go, but we are ... interviewing someone on Friday.
Her cognition is ok, although her take on reality is a bit off. Of course I hear people on TV and the Internet all day long whose views have nothing to do with what's real, but in her case there's a practical dimension: there are things she can't do because she has no ability to understand them. Her focus is limited and her hearing is bad. Her understanding of interactions is good in some ways, and terrible in others. That said, I control the finances and all she needs to do is stay safe and not do something stupid, like promise to give this exciting new charity all the money she has. She probably wouldn't know how to go about it.
Rather than natter on about her routine, I put together a little vlog, with appropriately stilted narration, that will show you what her life is made of. It features a few good shots and footage of the local attractions, if you're jonesing to travel vicariously.
Also, though this is uncomfortable, and I'm dealing with a lot of aversion and anger, I'm glad I'm doing this for Elena. And for me. I know I'm working out some very deep stuff, and doing my best not to avoid the discomfort of it.
There is some sadness in the background. Besides my dad's passing, my aunt Claudie is in a psych ward in Garches, a few miles from here. She just couldn't handle the passing of my uncle Georges, my dad's brother, who died a few weeks before my dad. After her nervous breakdown she tried repeatedly to harm herself, and requires medication and monitoring. [Funny, as I write this, I still can't believe my dad's dead. I want to send him this blog, see what he thinks.] By comparison, my mom is as tough as a Brinks armored truck.
I definitely want to go visit Claudie. We were never that close, but as our lives fade away, I think it matters to let people know they're not alone. I offered for my mom to join me, but like 90% of what I propose, she said no. I didn't push it, but I was curious as to why. First there were the usual reasons: it's hard for her to get in and out of a car - but when it's about the pharmacy or going to dinner at my place, then suddenly it's not so hard. Then she confessed that she doesn't want to be in a hospital ... again. Last time was my dad's deathbed. I get it. But I still don't like it. It's hard for me to cut my mom some slack. I'm as hard with her as she used to be with me. I know I'm being reactive, and watching that with a little dismay, and a modicum of compassion for my experience.
My mom's favorite line is: "As long as Laurent is here, everything's fine." And it's true. But come September, she will have to learn to live on her own. I really have to be ok with that and so does she, because I have no intention of moving here. There's a reason I live 6000 miles away in the first place.
You can reach me on Whatsapp at any time if you feel like sharing your deepest and darkest secrets, or vent about that rash on your elbow that looks suspiciously like an allergy to gluten.
Please be mindful of the time zone. 9PM here is noon in California, or 3 PM East Coast time.
Sending you lots'o'love. L.
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