This post falls into the "Living...." part of the Iron H blog.
On Friday, July 13 my brother went to my Mom's apartment to check on her, after she didn't return our phone calls for several hours. Looking through the front door, he could see her lying on her bathroom floor. Breaking in, he found her alive, face bloodied, arm broken, rib cracked, bruised and confused.
Fast forward to this day, after 16 days in the hospital and about 40 days in a rehab center, my Mom at age 84, is now living in an assisted living facility. Physically, I would say she is fine. She's about 95% of what she was, which for an 84 year old woman, was very good. She was spry to say the least. It was only two years ago when she tried using my daughter's pogo stick. We still talk about that one!
However, she has dementia and is considered a "flight risk". Just this year, prior to her fall, she would often walk the 3 miles to my brother's house from her place. Our decision to place her into the "safe care" unit of this assited living facility did not come easy. I feel in many ways that I took her freedom from her. And as triathlete's we know what freedom means to us. She is happy at the facility, I believe. She knows she has an apartment but doesn't demand that she return. However, I still can't get over what I feel we've done to her.
I'm going to use this blog over the next several months to talk about her and the decision we made. I keep dreaming that someday, she will be cured and could return to an apartment setting. But I know that is not being realistic. I'd like to get a bigger house and bring her home. The problem is she is a Long Island Girl and I live in Jersey. And Jersey is not her home. But we'll see. For now, I visit her as much as I can.