Here I stand, between a two-year-old and an eighty-two-year-old. My mom has not been doing so well of late. Her merry widowhood is now under the shadow of early-onset "memory loss." That's what her wonderful doctor is calling her inability to remember the day of the week, using kind terms to alleviate our terror of you know what. It's awful that the very things we laughed about three weeks ago -- her misplacing her car in the lot at Target, for example -- now make us grow quiet with anxiety. But she's working to keep up her humor, and to still move about the world as much as possible.
I love my mom so much that I'm really terrified of what happens when I lose her, whether she remains in her body for a few years after that event or not. Thankfully we're not there yet, but really, now that we've been officially told she's slipping, I'm starting to quietly freak. And we're having to look into the dreaded "assisted living" situation. Do you know what rents are like at a nice Catholic joint for elders in this town? From the website:
Studio Apartments: Type A (205 - 222 square feet): $2,970 - $3,260T
ype B (256 - 282 square feet): $3,285 - $3,635
Type C (334 - 372 square feet): $3,505 - $3,760
Sure, meals are included, but even you miserable Brooklynites aren't dealing with three grand for TWO HUNDRED SQUARE FEET!!!! Needless to say, this kind of think has my mom feeling down. And me feeling a bit like we're thinking about sending her off to the zoo. Sure, they make it look like a natural habitat, but those animals never get to roam.