Home Again

When the timeline compresses a well-oiled machine springs into action.

Project Bring Nina Home went from idea to resolution to action in record speed. At first, we thought we had time to plan it out, and bring Mom home in June. By then I would have time to go home, arrange things on my side of the country, and find the in-home care we would need for Mom. That was the plan on Wednesday. Because of her hastening decline, we scootched our timeline up to May, two weeks hence. I’d go home on Thursday evening, as originally planned, and make a quick turnaround. By Thursday, Beatie reported that Mom’s condition continued to plummet. I canceled my flight home and hunkered in for the duration.

The Prep

Once the timing changed from soon to ASAP, and the vision of mom being at home was real, it was like a big red button had been pushed. Our shared sense of urgency fed on itself. For the first time in years, or maybe ever, we were all working together, in perfect, efficient harmony. In the Bay Area Anne and Beatie were arranging ambulance transport and moving mom out of her room, while Barry and I prepared things at home for Nina’s arrival. In our years of circling aimlessly, or at least separately, I had forgotten about the force each of us could bring into the family mix.

Anne is a logistical machine. She took on the financial side of wrapping up whatever contract Nina had at the Grove and lining up a moving company to move Mom’s things as soon as she was out of her room.

Beatie took on the details of mom’s journey. She doggedly called the ambulance companies and got stratospheric quotes from any company that would even operate on Easter weekend. When she wasn’t getting anywhere she enlisted Tammy—the Grove supervisor who had helped smooth the process at every step—to jump in with her connections. They settled on Royal Ambulance. Their vehicles and uniforms were purple, Mom’s favorite color, which seemed like a sign. The ambulance could bring her up on Saturday, the day before Easter.

In Squaw, I was connecting with hospice and lining up caregivers for the coming week and potentially beyond. Nina had been declining rapidly, but she’d bounced back before. What if she revived once back in her home, and found a surge of strength and resolve? It could happen, and we would welcome any glimpse of the old Nina; but, we’d definitely need help with her daily care. And we’d need it fast. Barry worked his connections for any lead and I followed up on them with calls to cobble together a schedule of caregivers for the following two weeks. Barry and his sons moved Mom and Dad’s king bed into the garage to make room for a hospital bed. The final step was moving pictures around so that from her bed mom could see pictures of the family and of Buck.

Before mom arrived, hospice would deliver a bed and high backed wheelchair and whatever other gear they figured she would need. Once she had arrived, they would come visit with meds and, we hoped, some instructions and direction about what to expect, how to care for mom and really any nugget of intel. We had no idea what we were getting in to. Since setting this plan in motion, all of us had been running on a high of pure adrenaline. “What next?” hadn’t crossed our minds.

Bu-Bye Grove

Coming home to die. That term had always sounded so dark and morbid. Now, it was a ray of light, something we desperately hoped we could make happen, the pony at the bottom of the shit-pile Nina had been digging through for years. On Saturday morning, Beatie would ride in the ambulance with Mom, while John (the prince at every step) and Anne moved everything they could out of mom’s room, donated what they could to other residents, and designated the rest for the movers. As soon as that was taken care of, Anne would drive up and join us.

I didn’t stop to think about it then, but I’d probably never set foot in the Grove again. There were a few things I’d miss; namely the little every day unsung moments of humanity. Those came from people like the doorman Shahid, who had been a constant source of optimism since Nina first moved to the Grove. No matter how long between my visits he always recognized me, remembered my name and greeted me with a sincere curiosity about my day thus far. When asked about his own day, he’d smile and assure me, “I feel blessed.” No matter what emotions gripped me as I headed into a visit, Shahid’s greeting sent me towards the elevator, and Nina’s floor, with a smile and an inkling of peace. And then there was the activities director Belle, a complete gift at the Grove. I would miss her cheer and sweet patience, and the way her smile unfailingly reanimated Nina and put her at ease. And I would miss little miracles, like when the nearly catatonic resident Jean sat down at the piano and busted out a concert.

But that was about it. I would not miss the general lack of humanity of seeing people as cogs in the eldercare machine, as avatars for their condition. Too often it feels like your most precious loved one is a patient or a case or an occupant first, and a person after that.

The Journey Home

It was a drizzly spring morning in Squaw when Beatie called to say they were underway. She updated us periodically to report that mom was faring well, and getting more attentive as the trip progressed, and the altitude increased. She was propped up so she could look out the back window, and was tuning into the changing scenery—perhaps even recognizing the once familiar trip east along I-80. The ambulance drivers were kind and offered to play whatever music she liked. Nina was a VIP.

When Tammy first recommended it, I had thought that ambulance transport was excessive; but I had not protested. Once the ambulance arrived at our house, I realized how important this detail had been. Instead of struggling to get Nina in and out of the car and then into the house, the attendants wheeled the gurney she was already securely in out of the ambulance, down the front walkway and all the way into her bedroom. That allowed Beatie to be fully present with mom as she took in everything around her, and for all of us to enjoy the sight of Nina coming home. The look of delight and wonder and relief on Nina’s face as she absorbed it all was worth every effort to make this happen, and whatever was to come.

Settling In

Though hospice had delivered a wheelchair it was clear she would not be using it. Instead the drivers moved her right into bed, in the room with her familiar view. When Barry came to her side she found a surge of awareness. She gripped his hand, and reached for his face. She protested whenever he left her bedside. We wondered if she was seeing Buck in his face, and anticipating their reunion.

Once she was settled and we’d all had some time with her, we left her there to rest, keeping her door open to the living room. She smiled occasionally and looked out the window, though without focusing on anything. We had a baby monitor set up for when she would need quiet behind a closed door, but for now we wanted her to hear all the familiar sounds of home.

Two hospice representatives showed up a couple hours after Nina’s arrival, laying out their way of doing things, bearing instructions and white paper lunch bags of medications. A representative would be back to check in on us and tend to Nina early next week, but they wanted to make sure we were set for the weekend. We had no idea what we might need, and had only unanswerable questions. The hospice nurse was very oblique about any estimate of how much time mom had left. “Dying is a process,” she said. “We can tell when it is coming.” When she saw the unspoken question in our deer-in-the-headlights stare, one of them offered, “I’m scheduled to be back on Wednesday,” and added in a sympathetic tone, “I hope I see Nina then.” We took the bags and said goodbye.

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The community—the magnificent community—shows up in a constant parade.