Mom

The week before last was quite challenging on the “mom’s front.” She forgot again that since the start of the war, we haven’t congratulated her on V-Day. And to be honest, no matter how many times I tell myself that it does not really matter, that she is where she is mentally and can’t reason straight, I still can’t create a version of the “Goodbye Lenin” movie. I can’t make myself think that “it doesn’t matter.” I can’t make myself to say anything celebratory. We talked about this two years ago. A year ago. She kept bringing it up again this year, and I ended up raising my voice and being upset, and the latter one was completely unnecessary.

The WWII Veterans’ organization organized a concert and a celebration at a restaurant, and my mom was invited to both. Later, she told me that at one of the events, another veteran asked her whether she had a social worker. When my mom replied that she didn’t have one, they kept asking who did shopping for her and who cooked and cleaned. She proudly replied that she was doing all of it by herself.

I remember how excited I was when I learned that I could get a social worker for her and offload some of my responsibilities. And I remember how upset she became when I told her that this could be an option. I see at least two different aspects here.

On the one hand, she takes a ginormous pride in being able to “self-service,” and when Igor or I help her, she does not count it as “help” (although she often says that she takes a lot of our time). On the other hand, the fact that she tries to do “self-service” motivates her to be active and stay alert, so even if she is not really self-sufficient, she is more self-sufficient than she could be if she doesn’t try. In other words, it means that the more I help her, the more she can do things independently. 

My mom does many things she shouldn’t do, like walking relatively long distances with a cane or a walker. But again, that’s a trade-off: she thinks that using a cane demonstrates her weakness, which is wrong and prompts dangerous behavior, but at the same time, she is trying, which is good for her. 

Looking at this from yet another angle, she is almost ninety, does not have any serious medical problems, and is overall in very good physical shape. I hope I will also live until ninety, but I also hope that I won’t need to prove my worth by cooking for myself and cleaning my house. It’s not what defines my physical abilities:). 

Speaking about physical abilities, I took my mom to Fort Sheridan again. She loved it when I took her there last time, and I knew she would love to be there again now when it is warmer and everything is green.

I noticed that she was moving way slower than the last time I took her there. Overall, when she reports to me how much she walks on each given day, it sounds amazing, and it does not look like she walks less than she did six or even twelve months ago. But less than two months ago at Fort Sheridan, she covered more distance in a shorter period of time, and she didn’t want to sit when I offered her to take a break on our way to the lake shore. This time, although we took a shortcut on the way there, it took overall about 35 minutes longer. This made me think about whether I should even discuss with her a couple of traveling ideas I have in mind (I ended up discussing, and I am still unsure whether it would be a good idea).