My mom, Charlotte, is 90. She graduated from the University of Chicago in 1941 with a degree in mathematics.
She has always been a bright, vivacious woman and an encouraging, nurturing mother.
I moved in with mom because her hearing, vision and mental faculties have deteriorated and she can no longer live independently. She has been loving and supportive for 60 years, and now it’s my turn.
The median single unit cost for assisted living in Colorado is $3,288 monthly. That is approximately twice my mother’s income. According to , that is why 60 percent of Colorado adults now either care for an aging parent or relative or expect to in the future.
Unfortunately, it’s subtle and complicated for a child and parent to switch roles. There are no rules and no guarantees.
Every Tuesday night, I play cards with five friends from college. We meet at a tavern near our alma mater. It’s an evening of pizza and beer and we return to our glory days as effervescent, obnoxious undergraduates.
Last Wednesday morning, I slept in late, forgetting that an old guy doesn’t process alcohol quite like he did in his wayward youth. The doorbell rang, and I always get it since my mother has trouble communicating. I put on my bathrobe and walked toward the door.
My mother saw me and said, “I didn’t think you were home.” Then she looked at me, puzzled, and asked, “Are you here?”
It’s heart-wrenching to observe a tenuous hold on reality from your mom.
Anyone who has been a parent, aunt or uncle has probably spent time with a young child in the “why?” phase. Three- to 5-year-olds frequently engage adults in conversations like these:
“Dad, why does the sun rise?”
“The Earth spins each day as it travels around the sun.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure, honey; it’s the laws of nature.”
“Why aren’t you sure?”
“I’m not an expert in astronomy.”
“Why?”
“I work downtown in an office building so we can afford food and a television set that daddy can’t operate without your help.”
My mom recently regressed to the “why?” phase. While snowbound for four days, we had conversations like this one:
Mom: “Is it snowing again?”
Me: “Yes, mom, it’s snowing.”
“Why?”
“It’s too cold to rain.”
“Why?”
“It’s January.
“Are the sidewalks covered with snow and ice?”
“Yes, mom, they are.”
“Can I walk on the sidewalks?”
“No, you would probably slip and fall.”
“How will we get food?”
“I’ll walk to the store. I might fall, but I’m more flexible than you are.”
“Why?”
Five minutes later, mom asks: “Is it snowing?”
“Yes, mom, it’s still snowing.”
“Are the sidewalks covered with snow and ice?”
I am blessed to have the sweetest mother on the planet. However, after spending 96 hours stuck in 1,000 square feet of living space, listening to the same dialogue, I began to reconsider the Eskimo strategy of pushing the elderly out to sea on an ice floe.
Then I remembered asking my mother “why?” relentlessly as a child. She never complained, and always responded with affection.
I retreated to my bedroom for a few moments of silence. Watching the sun make its entrance and shine on glistening aspens renewed my love and patience.
Later that day, roads cleared and I treated mom to a movie and lunch.
She scolded me like I was 8 years old for not eating my vegetables.
Momentarily, mom restored the parent/son relationship to its natural state.
John Walsh (beaucoupcats@) taught deaf and hard of hearing children for Aurora Public Schools. The Colorado Voices contest is now in full swing. Go to and find the contest rules.
