The accusation stung because there was some truth to it. Linda did spend more time with Mom. But now I wondered if those visits were surveillance missions, not family time.
“What are you suggesting?” I asked.
“I’m suggesting that we need to start thinking about her safety, about getting her the care she needs before something terrible happens.”
“She seems fine to me.”
“She’s putting on an act, Carol. She always has. You know how Mom is about appearances. She’d rather die than admit she’s struggling.”
That part was definitely true. Mom had always been proud, always determined to handle things herself. But using Mom’s independence against her was particularly cruel.
“So what do you want to do?”
“Paul and I have been researching facilities. There’s a beautiful place called Sunset Manor that specializes in memory care. Very high-end. Excellent staff.”
“Memory care? Linda, she doesn’t have dementia.”
“Not yet. But early intervention is key. The doctor says if we wait until she’s completely incapacitated, the transition will be much harder.”
The doctor.
Dr. Peterson, who was currently across the room, probably taking notes on Mom’s behavior for his official assessment.
“I think we should slow down,” I said. “Maybe get a second opinion.”
Linda’s expression hardened.
“Carol, I’ve been handling Mom’s affairs for months while you’ve been buried in your own problems. I know what’s best for her.”
My own problems.
Code for my divorce, my job loss, my general life falling apart. Linda had always been good at making me feel inadequate.
“I’m still her daughter,” I said. “I get a say in this.”
“Do you? Because according to the power of attorney documents, I’m the one responsible for her care decisions.”
There it was.
The power of attorney that Mom thought was just Medicare paperwork. Linda’s ace in the hole.
“When did you become her power of attorney?”
“This morning. She signed the papers voluntarily, with Dr. Peterson as a witness.”
Dr. Peterson again. The man was everywhere in their plan.
“I want to see those documents.”
“Of course. I have copies at home. We can review them tomorrow when we meet with the admissions director at Sunset Manor.”
“You’ve already set up a meeting?”
“Monday morning. I made the appointment weeks ago, assuming you’d want to be involved in choosing Mom’s new home.”
Weeks ago. Before Mom had even signed the power of attorney.
They had been planning this for weeks, maybe months.
“And if I don’t agree?”
Linda shrugged.
“Then you don’t agree. But I have the legal authority to make decisions about her care, and Dr. Peterson’s assessment supports immediate placement.”
“What assessment? When did he assess her?”
“During his house calls. He’s been monitoring her condition for months.”
I felt trapped in their web of planning and manipulation. Every angle had been covered, every objection anticipated, except for one thing they had not counted on.
“I think Mom should have a say in this,” I said.
“Mom isn’t capable of making rational decisions about her own care anymore. That’s the whole point.”
“She seems pretty rational to me.”
“That’s because she’s having a good day. You should see her on the bad days.”
Maybe she had bad days. Maybe getting older was harder than it looked from the outside. But condemning someone to institutional care based on their worst moments seemed wrong.
“Let’s table this for now,” I said. “It’s her birthday. We can discuss it later.”
“Actually, we can’t.” Linda checked her watch. “The doctor needs to complete his assessment tonight to have the paperwork ready for Monday’s meeting.”
“Assessment? What kind of assessment?”
“Just a few simple questions. Memory tests, cognitive function, that sort of thing. Nothing stressful.”
