Side Effects

One bummer of aging, according to Mom, is the raft-full of medicines she has to take daily. Of course, compared to most people her age, Mom’s got it easy, but she still hates it. The side effect she hates most is the cost. But though she tries to buck it sometimes (“I don’t have asthma anymore!” “That’s because of the medicine, Mom.” “Well, I don’t believe you, but I’ll take it if it makes you happy.”), the benefits for her far outweigh the costs, including the financial ones.

My book journey has had some side effects as well, mostly positive ones. Getting to know fascinating, legendary people. Unexpected, delightful gifts. The occasional flow of inspiration. So many things. Really, this journey has been almost universally positive and gratifying.

Almost.

Lately I’ve been wrestling with an unintended consequence that’s affecting my entire family.

You see, on my Atlanta foray in May, I found yet another old friend of the family, and reconnected the ribbon of friendship. Long ago, when I was just a saucy toddler with golden curls, this friend of my parents was one I really latched onto. And seeing her again brought it all back—in my childhood mind, she was one I could count on. I think, somewhere deep down there, I’d decided that if it ever got so bad that, well—she’s the one I’d go to. And seeing her again, 35 years later, brought back all those feelings of love and vulnerability. We sat in my cousin’s living room, shared our stories, and cried together. Though she was my mother’s closest friend and confidante when things in our family were at their worst, she never knew the truth. A hard thing to hear from the grown-up toddler, all those years later.

But the fact is, Mom survived it. We all did. And now here we are, with a new challenge to face.

Mom’s dementia is far enough along now that it’s time for a new plan. She’s lived on her own long enough—she’s ready for someone else to do the cooking and cleaning, ready to have people around to visit with, ready to be taken care of. Ready enough to move from her home into an assisted living facility. And hard though it is to accept (after all, she’s had the same phone number since I was 10 years old—funny what becomes important), we’re ready, too. It’s happening in two weeks.

The only person who’s not ready is this long-lost friend in Atlanta. After my visit with her, she came up and visited Mom, and decided she just doesn’t feel right about Mom moving to this place. Not right enough, in fact, that she’s tried to redirect the whole thing. She’s called my sisters and me, trying to talk us out of it. Then she even called Mom, inviting Mom to come to Atlanta and move into her condo.

At that point, it was too much. I was getting frantic—what if she changed Mom’s mind? This is hard enough as it is!

So this morning I called Mom and asked her about it straight-up. “Yeah, she called me,” Mom said, “but I got away from Atlanta 30 years ago—why in the world would I want to go back now?”

She’s clear. She’s ready. And once again, I just need to take a big breath, and let myself have faith in the process. All will be well. Sometimes side effects are just side effects, and they don’t even matter. The key thing is to focus on what does.