Whenever I see an Access-a-Ride van, I think of my mother. Even before she had moved up to the assisted living place, I had looked up the requirements for this form of transportation for the elderly and disabled, at standard Metrocard rates. The staff at the assisted living place said they could help with the application, and my mother would have to get to the closest office for a physical assessment. Once she had moved up here, I could see that would be a formidable hurdle, but it was still on the to-do list before her heart attack.
Meanwhile, I had fantasies about how we would use Access-a-Ride: to go to a movie, to a museum, even just to come visit us. On the down side, Access-a-Ride wasn’t nearly as reliable as a bus or subway, or even a taxi or hired car: you had to reserve it 24 hours in advance, it wasn’t considered late until half an hour after the requested time, and you had to wait at least an hour before you were entitled to call a cab and charge the fare to Access-a-Ride. Planning to go to a 2 p.m. movie and return by 6 could become an all-day affair. In the end, we never had to deal with those problems, we never had a chance to feel the inevitable frustration. Yet seeing the Access-a-Ride vans now, I still miss those excursions and missed meetings and hassles we never had.
February 5, 2011 at 2:43 pm |
When my mother began slipping and then was in the Jewish Home and Hospital for many years, I used to fantasize taking her to live with us, lavishing care and love on her. I would picture her enjoying the liveliness of family life, even if not understanding. But it was a fantasy. I had children, no extra rooms, and no money. I still wish I could have done it.
February 5, 2011 at 5:17 pm |
I too had that fantasy about my mother moving into our apartment, living in what had been Christie’s room. It would be so easy for us to go to movies, and she would be part of our conversations. But it was also totally unrealistic, since we have only one bathroom, and sometimes that not even enough for the two of us! Then I wondered if she could move into a room in one of the larger apartments in our building owned by someone we knew — but that too was not realistic, because she wouldn’t have any of the services of an assisted living place, and while she would be close, I couldn’t stay home to provide all those services. All those wishes…
February 6, 2011 at 12:51 am |
I’ve seen again and again, in many domains, how expectations create memory and influence our thinking. I’m wondering if, because of the emotionally distant relationship I had with my mother, I had no expectations, and therefore no let down, no reward, and no memories.