Square Peg ● Round Hole







Friends, I have had a rough couple of days. It is a very long story, but the Cliff Notes version is that my mother wandered outside at 11:00 P.M. Sunday night convinced that there were people in her home. This isn’t the first time and I am so grateful for her next door neighbor who happened to see her and texted me. Fortunately, she continues to know who I am through these episodes, and I was able to finally get her calmed done after administering some medication. It was long night.

Yesterday, I stumbled through the day plagued by exhaustion. Sleep had been choppy as I was on high alert. My brain working overtime to figure out what our next move will be. Fortunately, she has an amazing caregiver who was able to be a serene presence so I could go home. A call was placed to her doctor for a new medication that would help alleviate the issues and I looked forward to being with my tribe of friends at a proper socially distancing cocktail party. I needed that support. It was an excellent distraction.

But then there is the grief. The intense awareness that my mother is slipping farther and farther away. That this isn’t the person that raised me. I cried a lot yesterday. It was part emotional exhaustion, but also the reality that her situation is rapidly changing, and trying to figure out the best way to keep her safe while allowing her to stay in her home. This is when adulting really sucks and I crave those moments where decisions were made for me.

Last night, I stayed once again, but thing were vastly different. I got a glimpse of the mother that raised me. Before she retired for the night, she sat on my bed and we talked for over an hour. She was lucid. She was engaging. Most of all she was so transparent and vulnerable. Before she left the room , she said, “I am so lucky to have you as a daughter”. Those are the moments that I have to pocket. It was an unexpected blessing and I am so grateful I was there to receive it.

I don’t have a crystal ball for this situation, but I do know that I am not doing it alone. And grief, well, it will be my companion.