Mama Mia

My mother, queen of the 'grass-is-greener' mentality, is moving again. Yes, the third time in a year. Now she's certain she's found the perfect place to live: Rhoda Goldman Plaza. Well as perfect as assisted living can be. I'm certain that no matter where she is, misery will follow. Both of us.

The major difference between where she is now and where she wants to go is religious. One is run by Catholics and one by Jews. Admittedly, my mom's dad was Jewish but when the directors indicated that perhaps mom would enjoy that Friday Seder would be performed every week I laughed. My mom has not been Jewish a day in her life. Not only did we celebrate Christmas every year of my life, but my mom denies she even believes in God. My response has always been that it's pretty hard to be as angry at God as she is if there is no God. Who is she actually angry with? I think she's spiritual but she lived with my adamantly atheist father for so long that she lost her own feelings on the matter. Sure, she's suffered a lot, but she still has some spiritual underpinnings. How else do you survive?

So, my feeling is that what she really means is that there are more Europeans or Russians there. She has the fantasy that this means she'll make friends. Naturally, little miss snarky within me says "there were plenty of Europeans and Russians in Washington DC and she didn't make friends there."

Can you blame me?

The back story makes my bitterness make more sense. A year ago my dad settled on Rhoda Goldman as the perfect place to send my mom, perhaps even before he died just to get her out of his hair. Then he up and died quicker than you could turn around and we were stuck finishing up the process of applying for her. We were all in and then BAM! Mom decided to try to end her life. She popped a bunch of pills and lay down to die and ended up in the psych ward. Well, naturally, when Rhoda Goldman got wind of this, by hearing from mom's psychiatrist, they politely declined to house her. So, who had to pick up the pieces and find her another place to live? Oh yes me. And when that first place turned out to not be ideal for mom? I found her a better place. And moved her. And did everything necessary to settle her in and make her happy.

So here we are, almost a year after the first application, 7 months after the 2nd time I moved mom, and I'm back in hell. Filling out applications, emailing, phoning, faxing stuff everywhere. Mom's fantasy must be entertained. She is absolutely positive that she will be happier in this place. She will suddenly make friends and have fun and have things to do and 'fit in.' I can promise you that my mom never fits in anywhere. She is an anomaly. Not necessarily a fault of her own, she grew up in an orphanage. She is prone to fantasies of how life should be and rarely does anyone live up. Rarely does anything in life measure up to the fantasies of a lonely orphan.

Will she be happy? Will she move 800 more times just to kill me? Will we make it through a holiday season without her crashing? And, since she has gotten sick enough to die both times she moved before, will she get sick again?

And why, when she has handed the entire application process to me to handle, did she turn in her 30 days notice to her current living abode when I EXPRESSLY TOLD HER NOT TO? For goodness' sake woman are you trying to give me fits? I have told her three times that she is not officially accepted and does not have a guaranteed place to live at RG until the application is completed. Last year we got kicked out on the basis of the doctor's note so we do not burn our bridge at our current place until we are in officially. But does she listen? No.

Stubborn much? Thank goodness the people at her current place called me to see what was up. It's not like mom's not competent but she is just so irritatingly sure she knows what's what that she keeps screwing things up with her independence. It took me 4 months to fix the mess she made of her prescription coverage when she took it upon herself to deal with a denial of coverage by herself. Do I not have a personal assistant covering her paperwork? And she has to ask someone where she lives to help her type up a letter so she can print it off and turn it in. While I'm paying (well really, she's paying) someone $40 an hour to pay her bills and keep her papers in order.

Every time I think I've got everything, and particularly her, under control I find out differently like a smack to the forehead. Why don't I get it by now? She is going to find ways to piss me off no matter how hard I run, how fast I try to move, how many bases I try to cover. It is just a fact.

So, here we are again. She will likely be accepted. I will get her moved. And the circus goes on.