Venita
Leslie and I spoke with Mom’s senior social worker to brainstorm ideas for addressing Mom’s safety concerns. She suggested that Mom might receive the care she needed in a small group home with other ladies. Leslie and I scoured Roseburg to find a suitable option. One home had several residents but lacked sufficient assistance. Another was unclean. The most recommended option had ample staff and even a full-time cook, but its proximity to railroad tracks raised security concerns for elderly residents who might wander too close. We then expanded our search to the Pleasant Hill area where Leslie and her husband David resided. Unfortunately, the only option we found was a dirty house with multiple dogs.
A friend of Leslie’s recommended looking in Venetia, a charming town just a twenty-minute drive from Leslie’s home. There, we discovered a foster home we believed Mom would enjoy. Leslie and I visited to meet the owner, Sue. The house had four bedrooms, and one was available for Mom. However, we later discovered that Sue was unfamiliar with caring for elderly women’s health issues. Despite this, we moved Mom in within a week. Leslie and I enjoyed setting up her room with her bookcase, dresser, and personal items.
Coincidentally, during a trip to Venetia’s Bi-Mart, we encountered George and Bobbie, who had been our youth group leaders at the Baptist church in Roseburg. It seemed more like divine intervention than a coincidence; God knew Mom would need advocates. They took her on errands and to church on Sunday mornings, all part of God’s plan for Mom.
It was heartwarming to see how caring Mom was toward her housemates, Shirley, June, and Rabia. They formed a little family, and Mom protected them both in words and actions. She always led them in prayer before meals. Mom’s new friends Shirley, Jewel, and Rabia often joined us for lunch at the dining room table. Mom would read the benediction, and Rabia once requested she read it again. June confided in me that she loved when Mom read from her Bible, saying, “She knows a lot about her Bible.” One day, as the medical transport took June to the hospital, she asked, “Where’s the lady with the book?” referring to the Bible.
“They will still bear fruit in old age; they will stay fresh and green, proclaiming, ‘The Lord is upright; he is my Rock, and there is no wickedness in him.’” (Psalm 92:14-15) That was my Mom. She lived a life of giving and loving those around her.
I visited Venetia most Wednesdays. Once, I brought two chocolate muffins for a snack, one for me and one for Mom. She shared hers with her roommates until only a few bites were left. Mom was always a giver. The following week, I brought six muffins.
Mom and I had a tradition whenever I visited her: we would walk to a deli near the house and order fish and chips. Afterward, we’d take a stroll or return home to rest. Whatever we did, it was sweet to spend time with her.
While having lunch with my friend Lynn in Eugene, I received a call from Sue, the foster home caregiver. Mom wasn’t feeling well, and Sue suspected a UTI. I cut my lunch short to retrieve Mom. Sue suggested we go to the new hospital, Peace Health Riverbend, in Springfield. Since it was unfamiliar, we got lost trying to find Urgent Care, which was in a separate building. With only half an hour until closing time, we had to hurry. I had Mom sit in her walker like a wheelchair, lifting her feet so we could navigate the right floor. The examining doctor noted Mom’s age, 86, as if it were a factor in her treatment. Despite this unprofessionalism, I requested a urine test, which came back positive for a UTI. The doctor prescribed antibiotics, though his behavior left much to be desired, unlike anyone else I encountered at Peace Health.
Upon returning home, I retrieved Mom’s walker from the car. Suddenly, we began spinning and ended up in a heap on the concrete driveway, which was on an incline. I found myself at the bottom with my face on the concrete, the walker on top of me, and Mom at the top of the pile. Despite the shock and pain, I managed to crawl to my phone and call Sue for help. I was bleeding, and Mom had abrasions on her face. I was thankful that neither of us had broken any bones. Even after the ordeal, Mom and I found humor in the situation, recalling the sensation of spinning like a merry-go-round at a playground.
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