Yesterday I went with my Mom to see her new apartment. She did this all by herself, and I was proud and relived that she had found a place to settle in for the winter. I knew that it was a 55+ community but I didn’t give it much thought, to be honest. Yesterday we worked at her house packing and preparing for her departure. She asked if I would mind going with her to put the deposit down on her new apartment. Of course I didn’t mind, and off we went.

When we arrived she showed me the main entrance, and how it is a secure building, something I had worried about and wanted for her. We went through the doors and a familiar smell hit my nose, but I exhaled and ignored its message.

We headed to the office and my Mom waited patiently for the woman behind the desk to get off the phone so that she could hand over her check as well as some income verifying statements they had asked for. When we were finally helped we sat in front of the desk and it seemed okay, routine, nothing to worry me.

Then the woman who manages the place came out of her office. Apparently she has met my Mom before because she spoke to my Mom with the easy familiarity of an old friend. She rubbed me the wrong way from the start, talking to my Mom in that condescending tone some take on with those who are older. In short, she spoke to my Mom as if she was an idiot child. Every other sentence that came from her mouth was some sort of cliché, and I found myself tuning her out until I heard her instructing my Mom to throw away the majority of her possessions because “You can’t take them with you”. What the hell? My Mom has never been one to be told what to do, but she kept doing the old nod and smile routine with this lady. My Mom asked if she could have the key to her unit so she could show it to me and they handed her some card, much like the type you get in certain hotels.

My Mom and I walked down the hall, led by this woman in charge who was pointing out the “common room” where frail and confused looking elderly people played with puzzles or games, some of them staring blankly at the big screen TV where Oprah’s head was flashing, larger than life. We passed the “library”, the “gym”, which was empty, and she looked back over her shoulder and said, “You can exercise in there.” “Or not” my Mom replied, but this elicited no response. She showed us to the door of my Mom’s new home and lectured my Mom on the quiet hours between 10 pm and 8 am. “No TV, no dishwasher, no washer or dryer, no radio, no loud talking” etc. She mentioned that they had been having trouble with residents who had their TVs up too loud and it occurred to me that some of these people might be hard of hearing but I said nothing. She asked my Mom if she had any pets, stating that while cats were allowed dogs were forbidden. “No pets” my Mom said, “just nine grandchildren.”

Left alone at last we used the key card to enter the unit and took a walk around. It didn’t take long, the place is tiny. As I entered the extra wide doorway to the bathroom I noted its spaciousness, only to realize too late after I’d opened my mouth the why of the wide doorway. There were bars everywhere on the walls, in case you needed help up, and I recognized the wide doorway was designed that way so that a wheelchair could fit in.

I kept my smile as my Mom looked at me and said, “You’re disappointed in me.”

“No, No, I am not disappointed. It’s nice.” My Mom has been reading my face for thirty odd years and she looked at me and stated what I couldn’t. “It’s kind of like a nursing home.”

I was relieved that she had said it, not me. My Mom worked in nursing homes for many years when I was a child and I knew that smell that I had tried to ignore as I entered.

I smiled and reminded her that is was just temporary. Just a warm place to sleep this winter until she decides where to buy a house. I went out onto the balcony to look around while my Mom continued to look around the apartment, no doubt wondering how she was going to fit in her china cabinet, her dining room table, and her beautiful armoire. As I stood on the patio I noticed how high up the railing was. I was glad she had chosen a ground floor unit. Thinking she wasn’t looking, I threw my leg up onto the railing, wondering if she’d be able to escape if there was a fire. She came through the sliding glass door and said, “Trying to see if I could get out in a fire?” God it’s creepy when someone knows you so well.

We headed back to the main office. In front of us was a woman with a walker, slowly making her way down the hall. Her hair was long and wild and crazy, she was wearing a nightgown, and she was in no hurry to get wherever she was going. Back at the main office we sat back down and my Mom returned the keys and confirmed that she could start moving in on the 15^th of this month. The manager started to tell my Mom about Wednesday night being Bingo night, Friday night being movie night and that there’s a shuttle bus that takes the residents on planned outings. “I need to know” said Miss Manager to my Mom, “if you will be alone on Thanksgiving and Christmas. We need an accurate head count for our celebrations.” Here I spoke up, placing my hand over my Moms and wondering when her skin got so paper thin before I said, “She will be with family for the holidays.” “What a shame”, was the reply “I was going to allow each resident one green apple martini for Christmas.” How big of her, to allow adults one alcoholic beverage. My Mom hates green apple martinis. She likes brandy, lime and soda, thank you very much. My Mom hates Bingo. My Mom is too independent to be living somewhere where you have to ask permission to have an overnight guest. I was beside myself with the urge to tell them woman to forget it, that my Mom would not be coming, that she could live with me.

A woman walked into the office, blabbering on about how someone had been stealing her mail, all the while holding a daschund in her arms. Apparently, some dogs are cats. Finally they figured out that she had locked herself out of her apartment and someone went off to let her back in.

As we were leaving I once again reminded my Mom that this is temporary, that she can buy the little house she has envisioned in her head and have her flower, herb and vegetable garden. She can set up her kiln and fire her pottery and maybe one day I’ll see her easel again, and her standing before it with brush in hand, making magic on the canvas.