80

My mother turned 80 years old yesterday, 5 August 2011, and tomorrow, on the 7th, we'll have a birthday party for her. I'm sure it'll be a fine event, as my aunt, Mom's sister, younger by three years, is good at putting this sort of thing together. I wish my uncle, her brother, older by two years, could be there, but he's down in Shelby, NC, and not doing all that great. Still, she should have lots of guests.

The only unfortunate thing about the day is that she will have to celebrate at the Brian Center in Weaverville, NC, a nursing/rehab facility where she has been since the 5th of July. The day before, she was getting dressed to celebrate our nation's 235th birthday and did something screwy to her right arm that resulted in a hairline fracture in whatever bone is cuddled in between her bicep and triceps. So, for over a month now, she's been at the BC, as my brother calls it, watching TV and doing rehab and talking to her roommate (she's had two so far) and her caretakers and physical therapists and waiting for visitors.

I'm saddened to think of her there, but as I'm writing this I realize that, as sure as I am that she wants to go home, I'm sure that at some level she's enjoying the company. At home, she lives alone, and she is alone most of the time. One Saturday afternoon when I was at the house with her, she wished she had somebody there all the time to talk with and laugh with, but that's not possible these days. But since being at the Brian Center, she has had that. It's got to count for something, but I doubt that it makes up for not being home.

Her current roommate is leaving within the next day or so. I hope she's able to stay for the party, but I know she's anxious to get out of there. Imagine being there in Weaverville, having come down from the west coast of Michigan to visit relatives, and suffering a heart attack, going through surgery and being placed in the Brian Center for rehab before she can leave to go back home. Fortunately, many of Mom's brothers and sisters moved to Michigan, the east coast (in the thumb), to find work in the 1940s and '50s, so she's had plenty of experience with that northern state, the character of the people and their accent. I think Mom'll miss this woman.

Her first roommate was a local woman who moved to the assisted living wing of the Brian Center, where she's now a permanent resident. She and Mom got along well too. My favorite quirk about her was that she is obsessed with the local channel 13 weatherman. Old enough to be his grandmother, of course, she had pictures of him on her wall. She had a signed note from him that she had received at some point in the past. And she watched the news casts all evening for a glimpse of him. (Mom understood to some degree, but she said that watching the local newscasts every day from 5:00 till 6:30 was a little much.)

I'm now 52 years old, three years younger than my dad when he had multiple by-pass surgery, thirteen years younger than he was when he fell asleep one Wednesday night in November and never woke up. Although this world can be wearying and it's certainly troubling most of the time these days, I think 80 sounds better to me than 65. I think I'll go for it!