Travels with mom

Three weeks. Two apartments. One shared beloved island.

We used to travel together at least once a year in what is now referred to as the good old days. We’d share a room (well until that fateful night near the Grand Canyon when her snoring made me flee into the bathtub, the bathroom having the only door), rent cars, fly to places, visit people, she’d join me on work travel and we’d be a team. She never picked up English but she knew what she liked and made herself known, often charming the socks off the Americans. With only 22 years my senior some folks wondered if we were perhaps sisters (less amusing to me) traveling together. She was on my turf so I would organize the details and she just came along. But we were a team. Equal decision power really.

Fast forward to this summer and things have shifted as they are known to do in general and with aging in particular.

For about five years now it was the “well, if I am still alive next year” approach to booking a vacation. Leaving dreaded possibilities other than death unsaid between us. Getting trip cancellation protection. Reserving accommodations way in advance that may suit her needs in addition to mine should the trip happen. Covering not all but most bases. Hence the two apartments. One disability-friendly with elevator and living-sleeping-bathroom- space on one level. The other ground level with garden and within walking distance to allow for spending the day together.

Mom would scoot herself over to my place with her rolling walker, bend over and leaning forward as though fighting a severe head wind. These days it takes her hours to tackle the morning inertia and get ready, hours I’d spend going for a dip in the ocean, picking up fresh rolls, and setting the table, cook soft boiled eggs and get the coffee going. She’d arrive with an extra cardigan, extra cigarettes, and extra candy in her build-in carrier on the walker. Most days she’d be cheerful and happy just to be here on the island. She’d thank me for the breakfast, for any assistance given, for being patient, for making this trip possible. One day she stated as though newly discovered that she cannot be moving about much on her own anymore. The indignity of dependence. The challenge to accept with grace that the new normal is not a desired state.

When I suggested we should rent a car for a week mom had said “what for”, having briefly lost the ability to conceive herself in places outside her small isolated bubble. Once we started zooming around in our fancy hybrid BYD Atto (a darn nice Chinese car), she leaned into it. Could we drive by there again or stop here? We dug around in our memory vaults in Keitum, a picturesque village on the east side of the island where we stayed when I was a child. She was young and gorgeous then, once causing a minor traffic incident when getting out of the family car in her golden yellow two piece swim suit. We kids had hollered with laughter at the poor lad in his convertible rammed into a light post. She was a head turner with her shapely legs, long blond hair, and ample bosom. Shared memories create closeness and wonder, stillness and energy. We intuitively stuck to the safe and good ones, falling all over each other’s words, recreating moments and whole scenes.

We’d have ice cream at least every other day (an impressive three scoop cup for her). She could never remember the name for “sea salt caramel” but I knew what she liked and as on cue she would marvel at how good it tasted. Mom is lonely at home, so this trip was pretty different, not having to eat alone, watching a soap opera together, going on little walks, being in each other’s vicinity all day.

I have been saying to myself (and whoever cared to listen) that she has chosen this life, that she could be amongst peers if she wanted either by taking advantage of more services or by entering a home for the elderly where meals are available and activities are offered. She doesn’t want that yet she misses it. I don’t know how much power over my life I will perceive to have when I am her age. I am not sure of anything anymore when it comes to predicting what I might be like in the future. So I am going with her flow, steering her away from harm but trying not to steer anything else. We are still a team, but I have taken on the role of team captain. Classic role reversal from the childhood days.

We don’t know what is in store for us so we plan for the best. I have booked the same two apartments for next summer.

Inshallah.

The Breadwinner