Finding peace in transitions

I feel like I’m at a few crossroads of transition in my life. My oldest is going to be 5 years old in July, and officially out of the toddler phase. The youngest has been dry for weeks now using her disposable goodnight underwear. Could we be ready to go without pull ups at night? We unofficially stopped bringing the official kid everything bag (aka old diaper bag) on every outing. It’s hard to believe that almost 5 years ago I was moving from the space of being married and pregnant to becoming a mom. Just two years ago I became a caretaker of a now 93 year old teenager. My grandmother lives on her own, in her one bedroom apartment which I liken to her dorm room. She has her friends in the building that love to hang out and gossip. It's an informal community, but important. These friends often all her everyday, or stop by just to say hi. Many of them have others in their lives they are caring for, but make time for each other like a pack. 

Crazy thing is I forgot my grandmother needed supervision, because she had always been so fiercely independent. Almost 2 years ago there was this space where I found peace on our family vacation my wonderful husband planned to Story Land. I remember looking up at the stars in our amazing room in New Hampshire thinking how lucky I felt that both kids were able to survive the ride from Boston in one piece. When I got the call that she was hit by a car Sunday night at 11pm everything shifted and moved from this open space to feeling very narrow, focused, and kind of trapped. I used to have this vision that my grandmother in her 90s would just one day pass away quietly in her sleep. It was challenging to realize she might not experience this kind of transition, and might actually spend the rest of her days going from one accident to another catastrophe. For one short day I thought the biggest transition was to have my son not sleep in a pack and play, but a regular bed.

So one car accident, and fall in her apartment after breaking her femur my grandmother is home again in her dorm style apartment. I am a caretaker, but kind of feel like a parent to a 93 year old teenager. Only I don’t get to experience the joy of milestones, because she has no real insight into her condition. My four year old has more understanding of the world around him than she does right now, which is kind of scary. But I want to respect the space she needs to live on her own for as long as possible. All I can do is make sure the help is in place to keep her home, and be supportive without dampening her right to self -determination and independence. Because as each year passes, she is trying to process watching her friends transition from this life to the next. She never talks about what it feels like to see so much changing around her. My grandmother just seems to accept it as the common denominator in life. Maybe I will find some space to flow through the transitions with less thought and effort.