Thirty-three
Trinity
A few weeks later, with fall firmly underway, the burst of afternoon sunlight through the window by my cubicle feels like a promise, a golden seal on this new chapter that’s about to begin. I’m practically vibrating with excitement as I stuff the last of my reports into my messenger bag. My contract for the migration of our electronic records software is complete. And next week, I start my new contract with the hospital, working remotely from Paradise.
Lakeview Assisted Living and I had a call earlier, and they informed me that my mother is doing better—much better. They are planning to move her out of the memory care unit and into a room with a view that could rival any postcard picture.
I glance at the clock, counting down the minutes until my phone appointment with Dr. Tuck. She’ll tell me what needs to happen next, what milestones Mom has to hit before she can move back home. That thought propels me into action, and I power down my computer with a definitive click.
“Come on, Dr. Tuck,” I mutter under my breath. When it comes to being on time, she’s about as reliable as snow in Vancouver, a rare occurrence that throws everything off balance when it happens. But today, I don’t mind the wait. It’s cushioned by hope and good news.
The ringtone finally cuts through the silence, and I answer with a smile on my face. “Dr. Tuck?”
“Trinity, hi. I apologize for being late. I just got off the phone with Lakeview Assisted Living.”
“Of course, I understand. Busy day?” I ask, already flipping open my notebook to jot down her advice.
“Always. Listen, they explained their plan to return your mother to assisted living, rather than memory care, and I know they’ve already discussed it with you. I really wish they’d discussed it with me first.”
Her statement catches me off guard, a curveball I didn’t see coming. “I see. Are you not in agreement with this plan?” I frown, confused.
“It’s not that I disagree—your mother is definitely making progress—but I worry their decision is driven by internal concerns, rather than your mother’s mental state. These places are in high demand, and I wonder if they’re looking to maximize their population,” she says.
Concern prickles at the back of my neck, replacing the excitement I felt moments ago. This isn’t just about a room change. It’s about my mother’s well-being, her future. “Dr. Tuck,” I press, trying to keep my voice steady. “Lakeview has been so optimistic. They say she’s responding well to her medication, and it’s all very promising.” I shuffle papers on my desk. “But now, I need to better understand why you’re concerned. My hope for our conversation today was to learn about the milestones my mother needs to reach so we can consider bringing her home.”
There’s a brief pause, and Dr. Tuck takes a deep breath. “Trinity, it’s good that your mother is showing improvement with the new medication, but…” She trails off.
“Go on,” I urge, my heart sinking.
“Well, it’s the ankle monitor that bothers me,” she explains. “It sends an alert if your mother tries to leave the building at night. But if Lakeview is worried she might wander, then shouldn’t that indicate that she’s not ready to leave memory care?”
“An ankle monitor?” My voice cracks. “I didn’t realize…”
“Trinity, Lakeview is one of the best facilities we have, but even the best struggle with staffing shortages, especially overnight.”
“Right,” I murmur. I clutch the phone a little tighter, my heart hammering. “I will have to speak to Lakeview again about this decision, but my question remains. What other steps does Mom need to take before we can consider moving her home?”
She pauses a moment. “Trinity, full recovery from the kind of stroke your mother had could take years. And some patients are never entirely the same.” The words hit me like a punch.
I swallow, trying to push past the lump forming in my throat. Mom has gotten so strong physically, striding through the gardens, her step counter often boasting close to five thousand steps a day. But that strength disguises the insidious nature of her condition.
“Memory loss…it’s a cruel kind of departure,” Dr. Tuck continues softly. “It unfolds right in front of you, taking pieces of the person you love. I’m not sure your mom is suited for independent living at this point.”
“Thank you, Dr. Tuck,” I manage to say. “I’ll get more information from Lakeview so I can make a good decision about Mom’s move out of memory care. I appreciate your perspective.” I end the call before my tears can make their grand entrance.
I breathe for a moment, getting my emotions back in check. I’m about to dial Frankie at Lakeview to get to the bottom of this when my phone rings in my hand. It’s Greyson.
I freeze for a moment, and I almost push the button to dismiss his call, my instincts telling me I need to handle this myself. But why would I do that? I can let him in without giving up control, and his perspective could be valuable here. If Mom’s not going to be leaving Lakeview, it’s even more important that she receives the correct care.
“Hey,” I answer, forcing cheerfulness into my voice.
“Hey,” he says. “I’m glad I caught you. I know you were talking with Dr. Tuck today, and I wanted to tell you that Frankie mentioned Lakeview moving your mom back to a regular assisted-living room. I told her I couldn’t weigh in on that, but I wanted to be sure you were aware of it so you could discuss it with Dr. Tuck.”
Despite everything, a ridiculous smile breaks over my face. This is what it feels like to have a partner. “Thanks, Greyson. I talked with Lakeview earlier today, and they are very enthusiastic about that option. But then I spoke to Dr. Tuck, and she’s not entirely comfortable with moving Mom out of memory care. So I’m at a bit of a loss.”
There’s a beat of silence before he responds. “Okay, let’s talk it through,” he says. “What are Dr. Tuck’s concerns?”
I explain the ankle monitor and Dr. Tuck’s view on the wandering at night and possible staffing or space issues at Lakeview, as well as her thoughts on Mom’s long-term prognosis. I confess that I’m not sure whether to be optimistic about Mom’s memory or more realistic. “I just don’t know what’s actually possible and what’s right for her at this point.”
“I have seen improvement in recent weeks,” he assures me. “And having more opportunities for interaction and stimulation can only be helpful to her progress. Frankie seems confident that Lakeview can manage, and I trust her,” Greyson says. “They aren’t short-staffed, and they’ll be vigilant. But if you want to keep her in memory care, that’s what we’ll do. ”
We bounce the idea back and forth a few more times, and by the end of our conversation, I feel like Dr. Tuck’s concerns are based more generally in her experiences, not on experiences with Lakeview in particular.
“Your mom will be happier with the freedom to step outside whenever she wishes—within reason, of course. But the gardens, the lake…they’re therapeutic,” Greyson reminds me.
The image of Mom strolling through blooms, face upturned to the sun, eats at my resolve. “Fine,” I relent. “But if the alarm goes off at night—even once—she goes back to memory care.”
“That seems reasonable,” he says. “Feeling better?”
With a sigh, I realize I am. “Thank you, Greyson. I appreciate you taking the time to sort through this with me. Hopefully, Mom won’t be disrupted so much by the move this time, and this will be a positive step forward.”
“I think it will,” he assures me. “And if things need to change again, we’ll make sure we get it right.”
My phone buzzes, and a text pops up.
Liz: I’m leaving the hospital now. See you soon.
“I need to run,” I tell Greyson. “Liz and I are meeting for a nice dinner this evening before we leave in the morning.”
“Enjoy,” he tells me. “Can’t wait to see you soon.”
We say our goodbyes, and I call a rideshare to take me over to the Fish Counter. Liz is going to drive with me back to Paradise tomorrow, thank goodness, and this dinner will be a thank you in advance. Keeping my apartment here in Vancouver is going to be my excuse to escape often to see her, but it won’t be the same as seeing her every day.
When I arrive, Liz has already been seated. I slide into the booth across from her.
“Ready for Paradise?” she asks.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I reply, fiddling with a napkin. The trailer is packed with essentials and memories and locked in the garage, ready to be hitched to my car.
“Good,” Liz nods. “We’re going to have so much fun.” Her voice holds something more than camaraderie, but she doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t press. She’s a closed book when she wants to be.
We talk about the drive, the weather forecast promising a clear path. And we discuss the logistics of what I’m going to put in my mother’s condo. I don’t tell her my concerns about moving in with Greyson right away. I don’t want her opinion to influence me. I’ll just have to sort that out after I arrive. But I’m glad that at least for now, my mom’s place is an option. And I do still wonder about the life I’m leaving behind here. Will I be able to pick it back up, or is this the beginning of something entirely new?
“Thanks for coming with me,” I say after a pause, and Liz simply smiles.
We order dinner and agree to meet early so we can avoid the weekend traffic getting out of Vancouver. We’re both nervous about driving the trailer on the narrow city streets.
Liz and I eat our perfect fish and chips, and then we hug goodbye, as tomorrow is an early morning. Each item I’ve placed in my bags feels like a farewell—to the safety of routine, to the city that’s been my anchor. Paradise awaits, but with so many uncertainties ahead.