Travels with Mother
Oct. 31st, 2017 11:30 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mama_kestrelMy mom, who has lived with us for the past year and a half, has wanted to go to a con with me forever. I've resisted; cons are my haven from the stresses of my life, of which she is a major one, and traveling with her is an exercise in patience. But I didn't want to leave her home alone and moping either, so this year we took her along to OVFF.
It took a lot of planning. Mom can't sleep flat in a bed, but hotels don't generally have recliners. So I got a pair of wedge cushions in different shapes, one for her upper body and the other for her legs, and while it wasn't a perfect solution it worked pretty well. I convinced her that she did not need to pack her entire wardrobe, nor take her own blankets. (She took one.) The thing I didn't take into consideration was that shepherding her packing meant that I didn't get myself ready to go, so we left very late. I'll learn. At least I hope I'll learn; time management has never been among my better skills (she says understating wildly. Time and I are passing acquaintances at the best of times.)
The trip was an exercise in turtle-herding. Getting her going in the correct direction at any given time was a challenge, and keeping her moving another. We completely missed the Pegasus Concert, as much as anything because three restroom stops makes a five and a half hour drive into a seven hour marathon when each one takes 15-25 minutes. But we got there, and got settled, and collected enough hugs to startle Mom (did she think I was exaggerating?) and spent a couple of hours in open filking before we crashed.
Saturday we went to concerts, and had a delightful dinner with friends, and spent a hours in a chaos circle. There was a whispered argument in our corner because Mom wanted to sing, but not by herself. I had to sing with her. That's fine, if I know the song. She insisted I did. I only know the chorus. To me that doesn't count as "knowing the song".
One of the concerts Saturday was Seanan McGuire's GoH concert. Mom sat in the back in her rollator, which has arms and allows her to stand unassisted when she wants to. She complained later that it was too loud and that she couldn't make out the words, and both are fair, but at the time she was rockin' out, clapping to the music when indicated, dancing a bit in her seat for the whole hour and a half, smiling ear-to-ear and clearly having a wonderful time. Damn dementia to the nine hells - by Sunday night when I was trying to tell her who Seanan was and reminded her of the concert, she had no memory of it at all. Singing snatches of songs, which used to help, brought nothing. She remember the sunset-dyed hair, but that was all. It was simply gone. I went upstairs and cried.
But she remembers that she had an absolutely fabulous time, and that she wants to go back. That's enough, really. We bought her a membership for next year, and Deity willing, she'll be able to go. And I think I'm going to try to bring her along to Chambanacon.
It took a lot of planning. Mom can't sleep flat in a bed, but hotels don't generally have recliners. So I got a pair of wedge cushions in different shapes, one for her upper body and the other for her legs, and while it wasn't a perfect solution it worked pretty well. I convinced her that she did not need to pack her entire wardrobe, nor take her own blankets. (She took one.) The thing I didn't take into consideration was that shepherding her packing meant that I didn't get myself ready to go, so we left very late. I'll learn. At least I hope I'll learn; time management has never been among my better skills (she says understating wildly. Time and I are passing acquaintances at the best of times.)
The trip was an exercise in turtle-herding. Getting her going in the correct direction at any given time was a challenge, and keeping her moving another. We completely missed the Pegasus Concert, as much as anything because three restroom stops makes a five and a half hour drive into a seven hour marathon when each one takes 15-25 minutes. But we got there, and got settled, and collected enough hugs to startle Mom (did she think I was exaggerating?) and spent a couple of hours in open filking before we crashed.
Saturday we went to concerts, and had a delightful dinner with friends, and spent a hours in a chaos circle. There was a whispered argument in our corner because Mom wanted to sing, but not by herself. I had to sing with her. That's fine, if I know the song. She insisted I did. I only know the chorus. To me that doesn't count as "knowing the song".
One of the concerts Saturday was Seanan McGuire's GoH concert. Mom sat in the back in her rollator, which has arms and allows her to stand unassisted when she wants to. She complained later that it was too loud and that she couldn't make out the words, and both are fair, but at the time she was rockin' out, clapping to the music when indicated, dancing a bit in her seat for the whole hour and a half, smiling ear-to-ear and clearly having a wonderful time. Damn dementia to the nine hells - by Sunday night when I was trying to tell her who Seanan was and reminded her of the concert, she had no memory of it at all. Singing snatches of songs, which used to help, brought nothing. She remember the sunset-dyed hair, but that was all. It was simply gone. I went upstairs and cried.
But she remembers that she had an absolutely fabulous time, and that she wants to go back. That's enough, really. We bought her a membership for next year, and Deity willing, she'll be able to go. And I think I'm going to try to bring her along to Chambanacon.
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Date: 2017-11-03 04:43 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2017-11-03 07:40 pm (UTC)(I pretty much only know the March... but still. :)
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