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Symbolic of unprecedented times...
On August 18, 2020, my mother turned 90. The second youngest of six children born and raised by Italian immigrants, she was the first sibling born on American soil. She grew up during the aftermath of the Great Depression, and retained strong memories about life on the home front as they pertained to World War II. My sister and I became privy to the existence of ration books which contained stamps for rationed items such as sugar, meat, cooking oil, and canned goods.
Hurled many lemons in her lifetime, my mother exemplifies grace under fire. Widowed at thirty-five, she single-handedly raised two daughters. She survived a stroke. She came out swinging after a trans-aortic valve replacement two years ago.
There’s my mother on the inside, looking out from a window at the assisted living facility where she resides.
She has weathered the mandates set forth by the RI Department of Health to safeguard the health and well-being of all residents. Not having left the building since March, she’s been confined for five months and counting, celebrating a milestone birthday inside, instead of out on the town.
During Phase 3 of Rhode Island’s reopening this past July, I’ve been able to schedule three 30-minute visits. One of those occurred on the 17th of August. On the 18th, I joined my cousins and their spouses for a surprise, socially-partitioned visit, prearranged with the staff. My mother appreciated the commemorative sign, balloons, and flowers left behind for her.
The birthday visit culminated a memorable day in her honor. My sister is mailing my mother this photograph in a frame. The moment captured, represents what so many other families are experiencing in these unprecedented times.
The winds of change swept through in the form of an email I received later that afternoon from the director of my mother’s residence. Due to a staff member having tested positive, all residents will be quarantined for fourteen days. Hence, visitation privileges have been suspended.
When reinstated, I’ll be among those family members on the outside, looking to come in again.
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Sandie
The last time I spent any time with my mother, was the two months I spent at home in 1981 because my Atlanta house was being leased to others and I ended up coming to Houston in the fall. The last time I saw my mother was in her apartment in 2011 and she cried when I left saying, "I'll never see you again." I tried twice to make road trips since to see her, but my driver/caregivers backed out. Fortunately, she died in February before the restrictions came. My sister had to come and help her at least twice a week in spite of the fine assisted living place she stayed in.
Hopefully, when everyone has received the vaccination, you can return to normal visits and outings as soon as next year.
Ron