Moving Mom into town

I spent yesterday with my mother. It was a milestone kind of day. My siblings and I are helping her move out of her house and into an apartment in Fayetteville.

My dad is gone now and Mom recently decided itwas time to spend winters closer to her kids, grandkids, great grandkids and places she might need to get to during bad weather.

Understandably, it took a long time for her to make up her mind to leave her home. She finally agreedto do it on a trial basis with just a six month lease at the new apartment. The lack of finality made things easier for her, and for me, also. I am still getting used to embracing big changes that mean moving forward without Dad. It is inevitable, but still pulls at the heart strings. I am glad to still be able to go back to the house where he once lived.

Even though relocating is a very logical step for my mother, it is a giant one. This is only her second time to move in 50 yearsand her first without Dad since marrying him in 1944. She is making decisions that she has never made on her own before.

Also, living in town will be something new and different for my 81-year-old mother who has spent her life in the country. I know she will enjoy the frequent visits she will now get from family members living and working in Fayetteville, and I am looking forward to having her 45 minutes closer to me, as well.

Still, I am anxious to see how she adjusts to city living. We keep telling her all the benefits she can expect - how nice it will be to have everything so close and convenient, how getting to the store can take a few minutes now and be less tiring, how she will be close enough to watch the grandkids’ ball games and other activities, and how much closer she is to medical facilities. But, in the next breath there are the warnings to keep her door locked, don’t drive during rush hour, and please take your cell phone whenever you leave the apartment.

My mother is a very strong and independent woman and plenty capable of thinking for herself. She doesn’t need anyone to take care of her, but the urge to do so is still there, partly for her sake, partly for ours and partly because we told our Dad we would.

Annette Rowe is a freelance writer from rural Gentry and a speech-language pathologist at Siloam Springs High School.

She may be reached by email at awalkinthepark50@ yahoo.com.