After my son persuaded me to reside in a care facility, I penned notes to him each day, expressing how much I longed for him. He never responded to any of them until one day, an unfamiliar face revealed the reason and offered to bring me back to a true home.
When I reached 81, I was diagnosed with Osteoporosis, which hindered my ability to get around without aid. My condition also posed challenges for my son Gavyn and his spouse Nia to look after me, so they opted to relocate me to a care facility.
“We can’t be looking after you all day, mom,” Gavyn said. “We have jobs to manage. We’re not trained nurses.”
I pondered why he abruptly felt that way about me, as I always endeavored to keep out of their path to avoid disturbing their routines. I would remain in my quarters and rely on my walker to navigate whenever I needed to move to another part of the residence.
“I’ll keep to myself, I swear. Please don’t send me to a care facility. Your father constructed this home for me, and I wish to stay here for the rest of my days,” I pleaded.
Gavyn brushed me off, claiming that the home my late husband Cedric had built was “too vast for me.”
“Come on, mom,” he said. “Let Nia and me have the house! Think of all this room – we could set up a fitness area and individual studies. There’s ample space to remodel.”
At that moment, I realized his choice to move me to a care facility wasn’t about ensuring I received proper attention but about claiming my home for himself. I was profoundly wounded, struggling to hold back tears as I grasped that somehow, Gavyn had become a self-centered man.
“Where did I falter?” I questioned myself that evening in my room. I believed I had nurtured a courteous man, but it appears I was mistaken. I never anticipated being deceived by my own son.
Without offering me much say, Gavyn and Nia transported me to a nearby care facility, where they claimed I’d receive constant attention from the staff. “Don’t fret, mom, we’ll come by as often as possible,” Gavyn promised.
Hearing this, I thought perhaps moving to a care facility wasn’t so terrible since they’d visit me regardless. Unbeknownst to me, Gavyn was deceiving me, merely trying to ease his conscience.
Each day at the care facility felt like an endless stretch. Though the staff were kind and the other residents were pleasant to chat with, I still yearned to be with kin, not in a place filled with unfamiliar faces.
Lacking a phone or tablet, I wrote letters to Gavyn daily, inquiring if he could stop by or asking about their well-being. Not once did I receive a reply or a visit.
After two years in the care facility, I abandoned any hope of anyone coming. “Please, bring me home,” I would whisper in my nightly prayers, but after two years, I tried to persuade myself to let go of such expectations.
One day, however, I was startled when a nurse informed me that a man in his forties was at the reception, asking for me. “Has my son finally come to see me?” I exclaimed, hurriedly grabbing my walker and heading to the front.
When I arrived, I had a wide grin, expecting it to be Gavyn, but to my astonishment, it was a man I hadn’t seen in years. “Mom!” he called out, embracing me warmly.
“Lorin? Is that you, Lorin?” I asked.
“It’s me, mom. How have you been? I’m so sorry it took me this long to find you. I just returned from Europe and went directly to your home,” he said.
“My home? Did you see Gavyn and Nia there? They placed me in this care facility a couple of years ago, and I haven’t heard from them since,” I confessed.
Lorin gazed at me with sorrow and asked me to sit. We settled across from each other on a sofa, and he began to update me on the events of the past two years while I was in the care facility.
“Mom, I’m sorry you have to learn this from me. I assumed you were aware,” he began. “Gavyn and Nia perished in a house blaze last year… I only discovered this when I visited your home and found it deserted. I checked the mailbox for any clues about your whereabouts and found all your unopened letters,” he clarified.
I couldn’t fathom what Lorin was telling me. Despite the bitterness I harbored toward my son for his actions, learning of his passing still shattered my heart. I wept all day, grieving for him and my daughter-in-law Nia.
Throughout my tears, Lorin remained by my side, comforting me silently until I was ready to speak again.
Lorin was a boy I had once welcomed into my home. He and Gavyn were childhood companions, practically inseparable in their youth.
Unlike Gavyn, who had every privilege he could desire, Lorin grew up in hardship, raised by his grandmother after his parents passed away. I treated him like my own son, provided for him, clothed him, and let him stay with us until he left for college in Europe.
After securing a well-paying position in Europe, Lorin didn’t return to the US, and we gradually lost contact. I never imagined I’d see him again until he appeared at the care facility.
“Mom,” he said after I finally composed myself. “I don’t think you belong in this care facility. Would you allow me to take you home? I’d be honored to care for you,” he offered.
I couldn’t hold back tears once more. My own son had cast me out of my home, yet here was a man willing to take me in, despite not being related by blood. “Would you truly do that for me?”
“Of course, mom. You don’t even need to ask. You shaped me into the person I am today. Without you, I’d be nothing,” Lorin said, embracing me.
That evening, Lorin assisted Hazel in gathering her belongings and brought her to his recently acquired home. There, Hazel discovered he had a large family who greeted her with open hearts. She spent her final years in joy, surrounded by people who genuinely cherished and cared for her.