I’ve been lurking on this thread since I posted in a panic (in May? June?) about my mother’s house move.
She chose a flat, moved and sold her house within something like 8 weeks, which was a real whirlwind. No time to really whittle down possessions.
I’m happy that she’s safe now and not going to be a victim of some combination of slipping outside, tripping over the dog, getting stuck in the lift and/or not having a working phone.
We all thought she’d enjoy socialising here as there’s so much genuinely interesting stuff to do (lots of classes, groups, films, trips) but she is sleeping a lot and has barely left her flat on her own aside from taking the dog out. I’m telling myself to be patient and let her take the time to recover from such a huge life change.
The new place is fine but there are so many teething problems, and whenever I try to get my arms around one she will add a few more to the pile, which is overwhelming. The food in the dining room (which she only pays for if she eats there, like a restaurant) has gone from spectacular to institutional in the space of a couple of months, which is disappointing as we were counting on it to help her have friends over since she really isn’t organised enough to do it herself.
DM is an artist and the living room in her house was double height and covered in her pictures, which are now stacked up on end in the hallway. (Many were still boxed up but she had a visit from some “helpful” friends who unpacked them despite having nowhere to put them, argh!!)
It’s all fine but also slightly shit. We are not in the trenches, it’s just the ordinary sadness of seeing someone you love struggling with getting older.
I have no idea how long this transition will take. I’m very glad I wasn’t the one pushing her to move (it was her idea) so I’m not being blamed for it, but I’m getting some of the heat from her unhappiness.