Those Anniversaries

 February has not been a good month for me for a few years now. 

In February 2018, the decision was made to move my grandmother from her independent living apartment to another assisted living facility where she would get closer attention. The turning point came after my grandmother was found in the hallway with nothing but a short-sleeved nightgown.  She had no idea how she had gotten into the hallway. She was sitting in a chair just by the exit door.  If she had taken just a few more steps, she would have been outside and could have frozen to death.  The exit door didn't have an alarm, and she didn't have her key card to unlock the door. 

She had indicated before that the new place was a "fine place" and her friends who had been there before had absolutely loved it.  It was more like a large home —a "group home" type feel.  It was out in the country. The people made the residents ' home-cooked meals. They were very lovely people and very enthusiastic. I hoped my grandmother would like it, but it didn't feel right to me. I just wasn't sure it would be her cup of tea.  Yes, the people were friendly. The food was better than the mass-produced institutional stuff she got at her other place, but it just didn't "feel" right.    I was tasked with taking her out to lunch the day before so my mother could start moving things around and gathering up so she could go get the room ready at The Resting Nest. That was the name of the new place. It sounded so lovely. It sounded tranquil and extraordinary.  It really was quiet and peaceful.

I was supposed to keep her out for as long as I could. I knew she was getting tired and seemed ready to go back, but she was falling asleep in my car, so I just kept driving around and using the time to process everything for myself. We arrived back at her apartment, and her regular caregiver was there. Shortly after we arrived, a group from the front office stopped by to tell her how much they would miss her when she moved.  She remarked, "Oh, I'm not moving. The only time I am leaving is when Jesus takes me home."  The manager said, "Oh no, today is your last day here."   The firestorm hit. I don't know if she thought she was going to die that night or what she thought was going to happen, but she dissolved into tears and started begging me not to leave her.   She asked why they would say such a thing, and got very upset with me that I had "tricked her" and maybe they were putting her in a nursing home.  She told me to just go away and that I had disappointed her.    Her caregiver knew it was upsetting to me, but she knew it was more upsetting to my grandmother.   I went up to ask the manager why they came in and said anything, knowing she was supposed to make the transition to this new place as peacefully as possible.   

The next day, I was supposed to take her to a doctor's appointment and to the beauty salon to have her hair fixed.  When I arrived, she cried and cried and wouldn't get into my car. She said I had tricked her once already, and she wasn't leaving, AND her teeth were hurting her and bothering her.  The day was cold and rainy, and so very unpleasant outside.  Her caregiver and I took her to the atrium, played cards and watched a movie with her, and then took her to her beauty appointment.   Then, with nothing else to do until the dentist appointment, she ended up back in her apartment and noticed her furniture was gone.  We finally managed to persuade her that things were just getting moved around and rearranged. She was cold.  We kept wrapping her in blankets.  Her caregivers were so upset that she was moving.  They thought they had caused some problem. That was not the case.   They were very cold to me on that last visit, but I do not blame them. 

We drove over to the dentist's appointment.   It was so cold, rainy, and dark.  We set everything up for my grandmother to get out of the car with her walker, and suddenly, she couldn't remember how to get up, and she was scared she was going to fall.  We went and got a wheelchair and helped her get in.  I wanted to stay the rest of the day and help her get moved in. Still, I knew that once we dropped her off, we would not be permitted to stay with her, as they wanted to help her get acclimated. Their experience at Resting Nest had shown them that it was better not to have the emotions and to just not have visits for a bit until people got settled.   My mother asked me to go ahead and get back home to South Carolina, and she would let me know how things turned out.   I left and I cried a LOT.  It took me a couple of extra hours to get home because I would just have to pull over and cry.    When I finally got home, I called to see how things had gone. My father told me my mother had already gone to bed because she was so emotionally drained.   It was about three weeks before I could call my grandmother, and then I tried to call her often- a couple of times a week. She would cry and ask why we left her in the woods. It broke my heart, but I didn't want to convey that to my mother, as she was doing the best she could.   After about two months, my mother was able to secure a different placement for my grandmother in a newly built home with a nice continuum of care. There was independent living, assisted living, and a secured area for those with dementia/Alzheimer's.   My grandmother was in one of the assisted rooms. She had a private room. It was beautiful and yellow, overlooking a pretty little courtyard with a garden.  There was a lovely dining room, a movie theatre, and a little library/bar area. It was beautiful, and she seemed so peaceful there.  She was definitely happier.  I am glad I got to see her there on her 101st birthday before she passed away a couple of weeks later.  Otherwise, my last memory would be the February 2018 day I left her in the cold rain and drove away when I knew I was supposed to do something more. 

Now, February 26 is a new hard anniversary. It is the anniversary of my mastectomy.  It is also the last time I would see my parents for over ten months due to COVID.  It was the beginning of a lot of loneliness- of my having to put up a front that I wasn't scared, sad, depressed, apprehensive.  Sure, they removed the cancer. I didn't have to have radiation or chemotherapy, but I have one breast. I am disfigured. I am ugly. I am old.  And the date is approaching when I must confront the day my life changed and the realization that I will never get to go back to being "okay" ever again.  All I get to do is get older, more tired, more worn out, more wrinkled.  I am mad that I have to face myself in the mirror every day. I HATE the person looking back at me.  I really do. 

Umma, please forgive me for driving away that day and leaving you at the dentist while I went to The Resting Nest. PLEASE forgive me for being selfish and not coming to live with you and take care of you so I could spend every day with you, helping you know how very much I loved you.  I failed you, and I have never forgiven myself for failing you.   You were the one person whose love made everything okay all the time.  Whenever I entered your house or apartment and smelled your food or perfume, everything was OK. I felt safe. I felt loved.  And I couldn't do that for you.  Well, I didn't do that for you. 

I am so glad I got to see you at Phoenix and know you were okay.  I am glad I got to smell your perfume and see your sweet face one last time.  I am sorry I wasn't there for you at other times, but I loved you every single day. 

February is going to be hard for me for a long time.