After a few nasty falls, we finally convinced my stubborn eighty-six-year-old mother to go to a home for the elderly. To her, it feels like giving up her independence. She survived World War Two, raised my brother and me as a single mother, and now needs to go to a place where people care for her, instead of the other way around.
We go to several homes and together decide on a home with several communal rooms and lots of activities. We get lucky, because a spot opens up sooner than expected, even though we are well aware another family would now be grieving.
After setting her up, I visit her every week. But soon, I notice a change in my mother.
Me: “Everything all right?”
Mother: “Sure, yes, it’s fine.”
Me: “You are pouting; I know that face. What is going on?”
Mother: “Nothing.”
Halfway through my visit, a nurse comes by.
Nurse: “Here’s your tea!”
Me: “Tea?! Mom, since when do you drink tea?! I always thought that if you needed a transfusion, they would have to hook you up to a coffee machine!”
Nurse: “Oh, your mother has been drinking tea for weeks now! It was hard at the beginning, but now she drinks it without complaining.”
Me: “Oh? What kind of flavor? You never liked tea! How much sugar do you use?”
Nurse: “Oh, no sugar! You see, your mother is diabetic and has high blood pressure, so the doctor said no more sugar, only herbal tea, and no more coffee.”
I know my mother is a diabetic, but the fact that the doctor decided on a diet is new to me. The nurse leaves.
Me: “What else did the doctor say?”
Mother: “He says that if I stay off the coffee and sugar, I could live to a hundred.”
I know my mother.
Me: “And is that what you want?”
She stops talking. Looks at her hands… and starts crying. My strong mother… starts crying.
Mother: “I just want my coffee… and tompouce!” *Dutch pastry.*
Me: “Okay, when is the doctor coming again? I’ll talk to him.”
When the doctor visits again (he visits weekly), he is surprised to see me. I explain that my mother was put on a strict diet, and I want to know why. I get the same information the nurse gave me: diabetic, living to a hundred, the home prides itself in healthy care…
Me: “I get that, but my mother is not happy. And isn’t happiness important as well?”
Doctor: “Yes, but this is for her own good. If she has her way, she might not even live to ninety years old. Surely you want to see your mother getting old?”
Me: “Doctor, she is old. She fought in the resistance of World War Two. She survived an execution and the Hunger Winter. She raised two young boys while the town spat at her daily. I would rather have her two years in happiness than ten years in misery.”
Doctor: “Think of what she might miss out on. She told me about her grandchildren and that one recently got engaged. Do you want her to miss that?”
Me: “I want her to be happy.”
Doctor: “I understand that, but my recommendation stays. This facility will not aid in shortening her life.”
Me: “Fine. You had your say. I heard your concerns. Thank you.”
When the doctor left:
Me: “Mom, give me a day. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
The next day, I visit my mother with a big box. The nurse already tried to stop me, but I told her that this thing is a gift/ my mother’s property and they are not allowed to touch it (per their own rules).
And you guessed it: a coffee maker.
One that only needs a pad and a simple push of a button. Not the tastiest coffee, but my mother loves it and starts shining like the sun after a nasty rainfall. But there is more…
A year later. My mother talks about everything she learned about everyone, gossiping left and right. I spot a bracelet.
Me: “Mom, new bracelet?”
Mother: “Oh, no, no. This one is from Bep.”
Me: “Bep? The lady down the hall? The one with Alzheimer’s?”
Mother: “Yes, that Bep. She gave me this in exchange for a cup of coffee. She is not diabetic, but the poor thing has already forgotten she had her cup of comfort. She begged me for some coffee and asked me to never tell anyone. And this is what she gave as a payment.”
Me: “She… gave you that in exchange for coffee? And you took it? Mom, those pads are like fifty cents each!”
Mother: “Oh, don’t you worry! Bep has gifted me this bracelet five times already. I’ll bring it back tomorrow; tell her she left it at my place by accident. And next week she’ll trade it for coffee again.”
My mother gets up.
Mother: “Thomas traded his glasses for a cup, and Jannie gave me this pack of biscuits. I’ll give it all back, though I’m not sure if these biscuits are still good. Jannie and I have been trading them for about a month now.”
And that’s the story of my mom, starting a secret coffee house in her room. I’m sure the nurses knew, but since it meant my mother got a lot of friends and everyone perked up from ‘being sneaky’, they let it slide. Also, my mom lived till ninety-two. I still miss her, but her final years were filled with joy and that’s what matters most to me.
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