My sister Meghan referred to my mother’s apartment as “the black hole.” That’s an understatement. Things disappear. And it’s not like it’s neat. I won’t call her a hoarder because you can actually walk around and find a place to sit, but there are piles, no, not even piles, things are strewn across every table, every chair, and on her bed. I tried baskets, but they worked as well as the one I designated for my husband’s mail. It just overflows eventually.

I am not a good organizer. My sister Meghan is. She and my two nieces came from Ohio to stay with my mom on Valentine’s weekend. I, as the eldest, gave the order to “clean up the place.” “Throw everything out,” I said. My sister lives in rural Ohio and took boxes of papers to burn in her backyard. So, in addition to being a black hole for the things you want to find, the junk you don’t want regenerates itself.

On that Valentine’s weekend, I collected all of my mother’s tax documents and put them in a folder, and put the folder on the chair next to the TV. The tax preparer came last week to pick up the documents. Got the call….it’s not here. I should have taken them to my house. Oh well, I went over to look. It was nowhere to be found. I thought maybe I was dreaming about doing it. My sister said, “No, I saw it.” My mother’s helper also said, “I thought it was on the chair next to the TV.” Nope.

And so, this week, we made the rounds to replace all of the documents. It didn’t help that my mother could only remember the last 4 digits of her SSN. I was able to dig that up on a previous tax return. While sitting in the social security office, she said to me, “How much do I get a month from SS, $30?” I assured her that it was more than that.

My mother’s short-term memory has been steadily decreasing. It’s sad to see. She always took care of finances, had a great memory, and was always on top of things. I know this is a universal situation. When my father succumbed to dementia, my mom was his caregiver. His short-term memory was about 3 minutes, and he wasn’t super concerned about it. He was mostly depressed because he couldn’t drive.

My mother, on the other hand, knows that her mind is declining. She is in a senior housing complex in independent living. I don’t know how much longer she will be able to maintain this independence. She has someone come in a few days a week to help with light housework, etc. I think she spends most of her time trying to organize and throw away expired items in the refrigerator. When my mother lived with me, the refrigerator was filled with test tube-sized containers with leftover food.

I am going to a doctor’s appointment with her this afternoon. At some point, my sisters and I will need to decide that she needs more care. She is not happy living alone and will be unhappy about assisted living. I wish it were different. My husband and I live in a townhouse with a bedroom upstairs and NO storage. My one sister shares a house with others, and my sister in Ohio has grandkids there all the time.

I know my mother is luckier than most. She is taken care of for now. Many people my age who still have living parents are faced with worse situations. My mother is not in pain; she is not physically sick. She is mobile and can support herself financially. I do have power of attorney and manage her finances. We speak every day and I am only 25 minutes away. She will be 90 this year.

I know I am not alone in this situation. I suppose I will know when she is no longer able to take care of herself

. When she moved to independent living in July 2024, I was hoping for at least 2 years there.

Today I will be in the present. We will celebrate Easter Sunday together as a family. We will enjoy each other’s company and make more memories to cherish.