Florence Fogel, Princess cruise 2011 |
“Are you my mother?” she asked.
“No, I’m your Older Daughter,” I said. Even though my
younger sister died over a year and a half ago, I still refer to myself as the
Older one. I manage my mother’s finances from California. I often give her
advice and deliver news about her continuing care. She thinks, then, I’m her
mother telling her what to do.
Marilyn, Florence, Barb, and Fred, 2007 |
“Who’s that guy you’re married to? He looks like a movie
star,” she would say at least once every phone call. We would switch to my asking
about what she had eaten for lunch or breakfast. We used to talk about books we
were reading, movies we’d seen, but she no longer is able to read much of
anything.
Evan and his grandmom, Outer Banks, 2000 |
This last call, she didn’t even understand the question
about food.
Three weeks ago, my 93-year old mother Florence Fogel moved
into a memory care facility after 7 years in an independent living apartment in
South Jersey. Three years ago, we started hiring home health care assistants to
help her out with simple tasks. We began with 3 hours per day twice a week and
ended up at 24-hour care just before Mom moved into the memory care home.
Things had come to an unpleasant head the Monday after her recent birthday. No
longer able to recognize who was coming in her door, she panicked when a health
care worker came in. She was belligerent, out of touch, and violent.
She, of course, was not always this way. My mother spent a
good 90 years being the life of the party--one who was always up for a good
time. Watching the slow mental decline over the past few years has been difficult
for the family to watch. This week’s Zoom call was almost the lowest point—she
looked OK, but had little recognition of who we were or what we were talking
about.
Engaged! 1948 Mom and Dad |
Florence was born in Philadelphia on April 5, 1927, to Helen
and Stanley Hencinski. The family lived in Camden, New Jersey in a row house
along with other Polish families nearby. Camden was a decent place to grow up
in back in those days. Camden High—the Purple and the Gold—was a good place to
go to school. She lived through the depression without problems. Her dad worked
for a floor refinishing company; her mother was a maverick and family doyenne.
As a kid, my brother and I spent many Saturday nights with these grandparents.
My mom met my dad when she was working as his personal
secretary at RCA in Camden just after World War II. She was a city gal; he a
country guy. They married in October 1948 with a small church wedding. For
about 5 years, they settled in a brand new apartment in Collingswood New
Jersey, before moving to 7 Greenvale Road in Moorestown from 1955 to
2013—almost 60 years!
Collingswood apartment, 1949 |
Mom was never a doting mother. She cared and took care of
us. She made dinner every night, with barely a day off. She was an average cook
with a small menu that was repeated week after week. Thursday was spaghetti
day, which became my favorite day of the week. When my father came home from
working at RCA, she greeted him with a cigarette and cocktails—Manhattans made
from bourbon and vermouth. She adored my father, who was often a grumpy fellow
when he didn’t get his way. But they made it work. When I reflect on my past, I
realize how fortunate I have been to have her as my mother. Mom was fair,
honest, helpful, and caring. I grew up with minimal drama and always knew I was
loved.
Fogel Family, 1997 |
Florence was a social animal! [This virus social distancing has been awful for her.] She was a
stalwart Lutheran church member, Girl Scout leader, and bridge player. For a time she was involved with Ladies
Clubs, swimming pool women’s groups, book groups, and a sewing club that met
monthly for many years. Seeing the social aspect of her personality diminish
has been emotionally draining for the whole family.
Dana, Mom, and Movie star, Cape May, 2013 |
At my age, we ask ourselves, “Would you rather decline
physically or mentally?”
I’ve been dealt the end-of-life physical decline pathway. My
mother, the mental decline route. While my days are filled with small,
life-altering physical challenges, fortunately I’m still able to hold my own mentally
as a 67-year old scientist. If I had had a choice, I would pick physical decline,
but had hoped I’d have the luxury of another 20 years or so in good shape.
Great grandson Travis and Granny, 2019 |
Fortunately Mom could come out to California in November for
a good long visit. It wasn't easy for anyone involved in getting her here or
helping out with her care, but things went well. The trip has left great
memories for the family. Florence was dancing, playing the piano, and talking
to whoever engaged her in conversation.
“When will you come visit?” she still asks. No one, not even
those in nearby Jersey or Philadelphia, can visit, much less me. Most likely,
I’ll never see her in person again. It pains me, and it’s fortunate that she
can’t comprehend this.
Most of us in our 60s have lost one or both parents. Their
deaths are defining moments in our lives marking the boundary between adulthood
and senior adulthood. I wonder if my physical self will hold out longer than
her mental self. I hope so. Meanwhile, it’s an anxious time watching and
waiting for virus scares and other potential things that could take her out.
But, mentally speaking…
Life is beyond real. And also wonderful
ReplyDeleteI remember her as a young woman. Your description of her is spot on. And i think you have so much of her best in you. She recently surmised to me that you got your ‘smarts’ from her!
ReplyDeleteIt's hard to lose our parents. Even harder to lose them little by little She sounds like a lovely woman who made the most of the life she was given, much like her daughter.
ReplyDeleteWhat a beautiful article. Written from the heart and to the true point of today's life with the coronavirus pandemic. I love that Mom thinks you got your "smarts" from her!
ReplyDelete