It’s an uncomfortable feeling. I arrive at the exterior door, check through the window to make sure there are no residents prepared to exit, enter a code, slip in, and quickly close the door behind me. I walk down the hallway to Mom’s doorway and knock. I notice another resident on the couch in the living room, halfway between sitting up and laying down, hunched over. There is no answer from Mom’s room, so I crack open the door, and call out. Still nothing. I walk through her apartment and she’s not there. I walk to the common kitchen, no one. I walk closer to the resident on the couch and realize the resident is Mom, curled up in the fetal position, leaning against the arm of the couch, sobbing and shaking. My stomach sinks and I feel a hard lump form in my throat.
“Mom?” I can’t tell if she doesn’t hear me, or if she’s ignoring me. “Mom?” I say a little louder, and place my hand gently on her arm. She jumps and stares at me with a wild look. “Mom, it’s Lori.” She wails louder and starts cry/screaming, “Take me hooooommmmmmme. Please. Please. Take me hooommmmmme. I hate it here.”
I hug her and rock her. She’s gasping for breath. “I hate it here.” I suggest we go outside to sit on the patio; it’s a nice day. I enter the code to exit and we sit, staring at the lawn. We don’t talk. We just sit. After a few moments, she wants to go back inside. I enter the code and the door doesn’t open. I try again. And again. I see a nurse’s aide in the hallway and knock loudly. I learn there is a different code for each door. I’m holding back my own tears.
We go to Mom’s apartment and sit on her bed together. She’s so upset, she can barely manage to get words out. A neighbor resident, L, joins us. “She’s not happy here,” he points out. What is the appropriate response to this? I can plainly see she’s not happy. I can’t think of anything polite so I simply nod and bite my lip.
The side of Mom’s face is black and blue and the greenish tint that comes from a healing bruise. On her first night here she got into a fist fight with another resident. No one saw how it started. Mom touches her face and murmurs, “It still hurts.” L shares his opinion of the resident Mom got into a fight with. “He’s a mean one. Really crude. He asked another resident for oral sex!” Again, I have no idea what the appropriate response is.
Mom is agitated. She points her finger and says, “He was hurting the children!” L says there are no children here. Mom slaps her fist on her leg. “There are too! He was hurting the children so I told him to pull his pants down, and I spanked him. Yes I did.” L tells her that’s not nice. I’m watching the interaction, not sure what to do. “I did!” she yells. I don’t want to witness another fight. I do the only thing I can think of. I change the subject. “Mom, remember when we lived in the big house in Rural Hall? The one with the creek in the back?” “Oh, yes. That was the best house.” “That was the best house! And you found it for us. Ashley and I would play out in the creek, and have so much fun. Remember when we captured turtles and gave them pedicures?” Mom is smiling now. “We would paint their toenails pink then release them back into the woods, confident that we would find them again.” L says he’s leaving. I ramble about any memory I can think of, not stopping talking, inviting her to interject and say, “Oh, yes!” And then, suddenly, she stands up and puts her jacket on. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”
“Where are we going, Mom?” “LORI! GOSH!” She’s exasperated. “It’s time to go to work. C’mon. Let’s go.” And yet again, I fumble for the right words. I’m trying to live in her reality, and she can’t leave the property. “Just a minute, Mom. I need to go to the bathroom.” I stay in there for a few minutes, hoping that Mom will have forgotten that she wants to leave. I come back into the main room and Mom says, “My turn!” and when she comes out she’s raring to go. “C’mon!” I tell her that we’re not going anywhere, and she sits on the bed next to me and cries.
I hug her. “I know, I know.” Ever so quietly, she whimpers, “Please? Please take me home. This isn’t my home. I don’t know these people. Please…”