Hope Springs Eternal

Today I had a revealing interchange with Mom. Bill wanted to run to Target for a cd player, so I was at the folks' with Mom and Dad. Dad had finished his now-customary two hour lunch and was ready to move to his red chair.

I don't know if this chair phenomenon is universal to my generation or just singular to my family of origin. For as long as I can remember, our living room furniture has included a recliner. This was Dad's chair. No one sat in it except Dad. If some overconfident child did brashly dare, they would hop right up when Dad entered the room and quickly ask, "Do you want your chair?"

Dad's first chair (that I knew of...there certainly could have been chairs that preceded me) was a swampy green naugahyde recliner. When I went off to college in the eighties, Mom redecorated and had Dad's chair re-upholstered. It was the eighties, remember, so the color scheme was forest green and mauve. Whoever was helping Mom with color and fabric selection chose a deep, dusty rose for Dad's chair. As if that wasn't enough of a challenge to Dad's masculinity, the upholsterer somehow reversed the fabric so that Dad's chair was delivered in bright pink glory. Oh my.

At some point in more recent history, Mom purchased new furniture. (!) Dad's chair is now a lovely clawfooted, deep burgundy, leather recliner, which also sports a custom-made inflatable cushion for even more long-term comfort. I think the red chair is Dad's favorite place in all the world. His very own happy place.

Anyhoo, Dad's fluids pool a lot in his legs and feet while he's sitting at the table and this makes getting from table to red chair pretty challenging sometimes. I wheeled Dad over and he wanted his walker to help him move to his chair. Dad needed a pretty hefty pull to get upright and then his feet just didn't move. We ended up doing the precarious pivot, which involves me holding up my 200 pound dad by a therapy belt through sheer physics, while sort of pirouetting him 90* and dropping him into his chair. It is very exciting and the ways it could go wrong are legion.

Mom was sitting in her reading chair, watching the whole operation. After Dad was settled with his neck roll in position and his feet propped up on two cushions, my 89yo, 110 pound mom eruditely commented:

"After watching the pull that took, I don't think I could do that."

I think Mom still wants nothing more than to be at home alone with her man. It is ludicrous, but I really think she keeps hoping an independent life will be possible for them again. Or maybe her observation was just her self-talk, reminding herself that she really does need our help, annoying as it may be to have people around constantly. I dunno. It's hard to figure.

Postscript: I took my sister's advice and asked Mom what she was thinking. She said she has given up on independent living. She is just waiting to to see who goes first.