Sylvia is my 93 year old mother. She and I have always been close even though we lived thousands of miles apart ever since I graduated from college. My mother and father came from very traditional backgrounds and they and my older brothers were initially somewhat challenged by my decision to live in a group. However, over the years they all visited our community many times and fell in love with the people. My undeniable happiness and the way my son was thriving thoroughly won them over.
When my dad died eight years ago, after being married to my mom for 65 years, she was bereft. She still had a wide circle of friends, yet I knew faced spending most of her days alone in her apartment. With the support of my community, I encouraged her to come live with us. It took quite a bit of reassurance before she said yes. It was a brave move for her. Many of us have invited our parents to live with us but over the years only a few have accepted.
We, as a group, had to make some adjustments to accommodate having Sylvia here. Drawing on our experience of having had a few elderly people live with us and knowing how devastating isolation and boredom can be for old folks, we gave her a room in the center of our busiest house, making contact easily available. We refurbished her bathroom to include safety rails and also added rails to the hallways she uses. As time has gone on and Sylvia has transitioned from cane to walker, we have had to alter access to the house she lives in so she can more comfortably move about. The old-age-friendly changes we have made and continue to make will be needed by us eventually (we hope to be 93 someday too,) so it's been great to have a reason to begin them now.
Sylvia’s life here at Morehouse is rich, filled with relating with people of all ages and interests. Each morning, she and I begin our day together having coffee in the group dining room with the “girls,” catching up on all the gossip, planning the day’s activities and greeting other friends as they arrive or pass by. The excitement and social drama, inherent in close group living sometimes reduces Sylvia to shaking her head, mystified, saying, “This place is not to be believed!” - but she loves being where things are happening. If there is a meeting, party or event, Sylvia is usually the first one there. Some days she can be found at the hairdresser and out to lunch with other women from the community or attending the Greek Orthodox cathedral in Oakland. Her daily exercise includes doing laps around the large dining room and long hallways, laughing and chatting with people along the way. On a typical day at least a dozen community members stop by her room to say hi, show off a new outfit, bring her a treat, or to confide in her and ask her advice. We tease her about being a party animal. She often says with a laugh, “I’m spoiled - and I love it!”
For me, having my mother’s life be so rich and full is an indescribable blessing. My brothers, who live on the East Coast, are grateful for the good time my mom is having living with us and they enjoy visiting us as often as they can. While I am my mother’s primary caregiver, I am not burdened by that responsibility in the way that I would inevitably be if we didn't live in this group. Since we are on a 24 hour clock around here, there is always somebody up in case Sylvia needs anything. Within the community various people help with her physical care and her daily needs. It’s enjoyable and rewarding for them and fun for Sylvia. With so many others actively involved in my mother’s life, I am free to spend time with her in ways that pleasure us both. I get to cherish her with love, rather than obligation. My Morehouse “family” has helped me take the best care I could possibly imagine of my mother and provide her with an enviable, vibrant and rewarding old age.