How terribly Strange to be 92

So many times I’ve seen images of seniors sitting in wheelchairs, looking
lonely and rejected. It broke my heart to see my own mother looking just
like that when we arrived at the Rehabilitation Center a couple of weeks
ago.

Her broken shoulder was padded with a sling for her arm; a second sweater
wrapped around her shoulders and a blanket over her legs and knees only
accented her frame of mind and physical condition. The sound of my voice
made her perk up and look – a frown became a smile, a tear fell. She had
been found and saved from the belly of the nursing home beast (her
perspective).

A rehabilitation center isn’t designed to be a restful place, but one
where visitors are welcome most hours and sit and visit in all sorts of
unlikely corners and places. Each patient has a caseworker, a physical
therapist and a clinical nurse. They talk about exercise, lifestyle, and
diet. Momma listed, but we’ll know by her health if she’s behaving and
following Doctor’s orders.

We had medical transport take her home and we spent the next two days
getting her settled into her apartment. Figuring out what meds needed
ordering and getting them. Finding a Home Health Nurse to help her in the
mornings and evenings. Communicating with all her friends that she was
home. Making arrangements for her dog to return home. So much occurs in
someone else’s life that we are not aware of and helping them get back
into life takes time.

Everything worked out the way I like to think of according to the divine
plan for her life. At 92 I really don’t know what that is, but her mind
is sharp – she’s just worn out her body. How terribly strange to be 92.