Letting Go is Hard
These are challenging times.
For the past few years, my siblings and I have been on what feels like an assisted living merry-go-round with Mom. We tour residences. We talk finances. We start the intake process. We discuss what life might look like there.
Then she changes her mind.
"I'm not ready."
And everything comes to a stop.
This has happened several times since my dad passed away four years ago.
The reality is that living alone has become increasingly difficult for her. There have been health issues, emergency room visits, struggles with eating properly, and a growing sense of loneliness. I also suspect she's dealing with some depression, although that's not something she talks about much.
After the last time she backed out, my siblings and I decided to take assisted living off the table. We told Mom that we'd simply bring in services as she needed them—housekeeping, meals, and whatever else might help her stay where she was comfortable.
And for a while, that's what we did.
Then, about six months later, she brought it up again.
This time, she was the one who said she felt lonely and isolated. She was the one who asked me to call the residence she liked and see if there was anything available.
As it turned out, there was.
Not her ideal suite, of course. If finances were no object, she'd happily move into a two-bedroom apartment. But they had a lovely one-bedroom plus den available, and this time things began to move forward.
The deposit has been paid. The health assessments are being completed. The movers have been booked.
For the first time, this move feels real.
That doesn't mean it's been easy.
The biggest challenge right now is deciding what comes with her and what doesn't.
Mom has always had a strong attachment to her belongings. Every piece of furniture, every set of dishes, every crystal glass seems connected to a memory. Letting go of those things feels a little like letting go of pieces of her life.
I understand that.
But it has made downsizing difficult.
Last week she nearly derailed the entire move again because she couldn't imagine fitting everything into a one-bedroom plus den. The dining room set. The china cabinet. The china and crystal.
The practical side of me wants to point out that she won't be cooking meals anymore. She'll be eating downstairs in the dining room. She won't need a large dining room suite.
But moving isn't always about practicality.
Sometimes it's about emotions.
When Mom does decide she's ready to part with something, she wants it to go to family. The problem is that her children are retired now and many of us are downsizing ourselves. Most of the grandchildren aren't looking for china cabinets or formal dinnerware.
Still, we're making progress.
Boxes are being packed. Some items have been sold. Others have found homes with family members.
Bit by bit, we're moving forward.
Meanwhile, I feel like I spend half my life driving back and forth.
Mom lives about an hour away, and lately it seems that every few days I'm making the trip to pack boxes, attend appointments, make phone calls, or deal with whatever new issue has surfaced.
I try to be patient and sensitive because I know how hard this is for her. She's leaving behind a home, a routine, and many of the possessions that have surrounded her for decades.
But if I'm being honest, there are moments when I feel frustrated too.
The uncertainty is exhausting. The second-guessing is exhausting. And some days it feels like we're taking two steps forward and one step back.
The good news is that there are seven of us siblings, and everyone is helping where they can. The workload is being shared, decisions are being made together, and there is always someone willing to step in when needed.
I'm grateful for that.
So for now, we keep packing boxes and making plans.
Moving day is over three weeks away. In the meantime, my sisters and I are taking a long-planned trip to Newfoundland for two weeks. We welcome the break from the chaos knowing that when we return it will be utter madness.
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