It’s been a busy May. Wait, June. Wait, July. You get the picture. 

We placed my mom in Memory Care in mid May. It was a quick and necessary move, first to respite to get her in a more secure environment, with a plan to bring her belongings soon afterward. All said, it’s been a relatively smooth transition, but these things are never easy.

Mom’s new home is a mile from our house, which means I am taking on more responsibility for her oversight, but it also means it’s easier for me to care for her. Already we’ve been able to take her to see one of Gillian’s shows, to church, and several times, to lunch. 

The sandwich generation

I was a living picture of the sandwich generation last week, out to lunch at Bellagreen with Isaac and Mom: helping them both navigate the self-serve drinks, cutting Isaac’s chicken, typing our conversations into my phone for Mom to read since she can neither hear nor keep track of hearing aids. It’s a lot, in addition to the already overwhelming pace of life with kids and the added complexities of a child with disabilities, but all said, I’m happy with the new arrangement. 

Getting Mom here was emotionally laden and took a fair amount of sisterly planning and orchestration, but the really hard work fell this weekend: cleaning out and packing. This is the second time we’ve gone through this process (with Mom), and it doesn’t get easier. It’s hard to see someone who cared for you no longer able to care for themselves. 

I won’t go into detail, except to say there were some fascinating finds among the oddly placed coffee mugs, bank statements, and cans of tuna, like cards she’d written and never sent, the receipt to the wedding ring Dad purchased for Mom in 1969, the amortization schedule and deed to their first home, and coins and small bills stashed everywhere.   

Time to laugh

My sister and I identified *one* day in the month of June we could both devote to the project: Friday, June 28. Isaac was free that day, too, so he came with me. He was quite helpful, dumping refilled water bottles down the sink and putting all of the empty coke cans in a dedicated bag. Sometimes you have to laugh instead of crying, and Isaac got into the spirit with us, enjoying all of the unexpected finds. He worked so hard that I told him we would pay him for his efforts with some of the money we found. 

We took two breaks only, for lunch and dinner. My sister’s husband, Eddie, brought us some supplies, took a load of trash in his truck, and met us for meals. By dinner, we were totally exhausted. We ate at Lupe Tortilla, just down the street from Mom’s place. We’d forgotten it was Friday night, but fortunately the wait was minimal. I brought the small bills and haul of coins in so we could pay Isaac with a little fanfare, thanking him for his efforts, and divide and count the coins between the four of us at the table.

Needless to say, we indulged at dinner. Chips and salsa and queso (and queso flameado for Eddie), quesadillas, beans and rice, tacos, and a salad. It was comfort food after a hard day’s work. 

The atmosphere was Friday-night festive. The table next to us had a large party, and at one point someone clinked on a glass, inviting the whole room to sing happy birthday with them, which we did. Eddie left shortly after the meal was over, and we waited a while longer for our server. 

When he finally came back, our server told us someone had paid our bill. 

***

Say what?

We were totally dumbfounded. At first we thought maybe it was Eddie … then that maybe Todd had called in and paid. Then we thought someone must have seen us who knew us from back in the day. We started looking around the restaurant from our seats. But we were stumped. 

And then I remembered … 

“What if someone saw us counting all of our coins on the table?” I said to my sister. “And think about how awful we look.” And then I thought about how I came around the corner after washing my hands saying, “We found $57!” We must have looked & sounded like we were barely scraping by. WE LAUGHED SO HARD thinking about what our mystery patron must have thought. 

It’s been a long time since I’ve laughed like that. We were beside ourselves, unrestrained. Isaac, too. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him laugh so hard. We called Eddie when we got in the car to tell him, and he cracked up, too. So did Todd & Gillian when we told them. It’s a story that keeps on giving. I can’t think of a better way for that day to have ended.

In the few days that have passed since, I’ve realized anew how much progress Isaac has made over the last four years with treatment for PANS. One of the hardest symptoms we dealt with—for eleven years—was rage. Daily, jarring RAGE. And it’s all but gone. That laugh, that freedom, that joy will stay with me for a long time. It’s who Isaac really is. I’ve always held on to that. And for me, it’s a sign of more good to come.