It's been a while now since mother has come to live with me and my husband, leaving her home, three old cows and trusted canine friend "Annie" behind. Many tears have been shed over the fore mentioned, but sometimes, you must do what's best for those you love, regardless of the sadness that follows afterward.
Each morning before work, I head up mother's driveway only to see "Annie" frolicking through the yard on her way to greet me. Previous plans were made to bring Annie up to my house in a small fenced in back yard, allowing her to come in and visit with mother as often as possible. Reality sat in and as much as I wish it could have came to fruition, it just wasn't feasible. With mother in a small confined area and a dog of Annie's stature and energy, would soon make a fall for mother. Not to mention, the confined space Annie would have to endure, opposed to the spacious farm to which she was accustomed. I feed and water Annie and head on to work.
It's becoming time now for mother's house to be put on the market. Attempts have been made to clean out and dispose of the most personal items which mother and her late husband Yates held so dear. It seems uncomfortably eerie, sorting through and tossing out. As time goes by, it becomes unbearable for me to remove anything from the house. On one occasion, my husband and I had gone down in late evening, to try to sort through some items in the basement. I'm not sure what came over me, but I suddenly burst into tears and ran up the stairs ordering my husband Bob to take me home. Every item tells it's own story; from the curtains to the rugs, remembering the pride and joy that each of these "things" had meant to my mother when first purchased, breaks my heart. Who am I to dispose of these personal treasures as if they were yesterday's garbage.
Today, my family and I have finally completed the transition. New flooring, a fresh coat of paint inside and out and thorough cleaning has made mother's house suitable for a new family to move in.
I often ask mother what she remembers about her past home of some 20 years. Receiving a reply of "well you know, I lived over there in that house with your daddy on Skyuka road." I have mentioned in previous blogs that there are times when dementia can be your friend. This is one of them.
Glancing around at precious items in my own house. I'm aware that the day will come when my three children will be in the same shoes that I wear today, disposing of my belongings which I have held so dear in days gone by. Somehow, just knowing this to be true, makes it a little easier to say goodbye.