The view has changed

The view has changed. The recliner in the TV room previously held Dad, outfitted in his white tee-shirt tucked into his tighty whities, waiting for me to meet curfew. I was convinced this display was meant to either intimidate my date or embarrass me, or perhaps the both. Whatever…it was effective.

The view now is my mother in a souped up recliner that has a remote. At the touch of a button she can stand herself upright without having to expend any energy whatsoever. This feature is nice for Mom but not necessary. This is the recliner we got for Dad once his legs failed him. As the Parkinson’s progressed, it was an earnest effort to buy additional time before having to move him to assisted living and then to full-time health care.

Seven years ago, Mom and Dad moved from my childhood home to their retirement community. They lived at Hawthorne Drive for 40 years.  It was the only home I ever knew. The view there was of the Lawrence’s beautiful farm behind our home. Ironically, the view at their new digs is also Lawrence land, which the Lawrences generously donated to Westminster-Canterbury.

The inside view mocks me – it’s the same, but not. It’s the same china, and rugs, and furniture…the coveted piano, and books, and artwork. But it’s not in the same place. My room is gone. Dad’s workshop is gone. Mom’s kitchen has shrunk. The cul-de-sac where I learned to ride my bike is not there; neither is the stone wall where Andrew split his forehead.

The spaces have been replaced. Dad’s bar is now the local Tavern. Mom’s painting corner is now the community art room. Their living room is now an organized library. Their massive garden is now a 2x10 spot.  Forty years of memories and stuff have been crammed into half the square footage. Even with the intense down-sizing of “crap,” it’s still too much stuff in this space.

While the view of tangibles has changed, the intangibles never will. We are thankful for our many blessings. We are thankful for our family. We are thankful for our health, regardless of where it is. Faith, hope, and love support the view we will always have. Writing these words is easy. Living them is not.

Meanwhile, I lounge in (now) Mama’s recliner, using the remote to achieve perfect supination. I consider the change of view. It’s not too shabby. In fact, it’s pretty comfy!

Regardless, the view has changed. The kids are now the caregivers.