Not a soul around.
During those lazy, hazy, crazy pre-COVID 19 days of summer, or any season, for that matter, the first floor of my mother’s residence hustled and bustled with cheer. On any given day, when you passed through the second set of glass doors, you’d find groups of people socializing in the main area surrounding the front desk, a focal point in itself.
The small room behind the front desk, staffed by volunteers, served as a country store for residents to purchase a variety of goods.
Off to the side of the front desk, a tastefully decorated living room in shades of mauve provided a comfortable waiting area. During my sister’s last visit to Rhode Island, our family gathered there to finalize plans before taking off for the day. Back then, residents on the fourth floor, where my mother lives, could come and go as they pleased. All they had to do was sign out and sign in.
Until March, when the R.I. Department of Health mandated residents could no longer leave their assisted-living facility, and family members were not allowed visitation privileges.
Then, in July, restrictions were lifted where family members could make appointments for half-hour slots. That, I did. Screened before sitting down with my mother, I kept my distance while wearing a mask and gown covering.
A far cry from those glory days, the carpeting on the first floor was gutted. The flooring is down to bare hardwood laminate. All furniture has been removed. The country store has been repurposed to serve as the main office where you’ll find the front desk. There isn’t a soul around. It reminded me of THE SHINING’s stark contrast between the festive ballroom scene and the emptiness of the Overlook Hotel during winter.
In celebration of my mother’s 90th birthday, I have an upcoming scheduled visit. Knock on wood, she’ll have many more birthdays in good health, and I’ll still be allowed to visit her in the empty ballroom as one season blends into the next.
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Sandie
My mother died in February at 95. She required my sister to come at least twice a week and help her with one thing or another. In the end, she had hospice coming in daily. I wonder what that excellent facility is like today.
My uncle, 101 and my aunt 95, his wife, are in assisted-living in a first floor facility with rooms all the way around the square building perimeter. There are inside rooms and outside rooms with windows. Fortunately, they have a window and my cousin who watches over them in College Station, can come to the window on the drive around the building and then walk up and talk to them through the window anytime.
The good news is, if your mother does okay, within a year, everything will go back to normal and the place your mother is once again, be the cheery place you describe.
Ron
Mark