Last night just after sundown I stood in the front yard of my little house and gazed at the “great conjunction” of Saturn and Jupiter. It was the closest those planets have appeared together in the sky in about 800 years, and it won’t happen again until 2080. I don’t expect to be around to see it then. I didn’t have a telescope strong enough to view it properly, and I snapped a few photos with my iPhone, which proved woefully inadequate. But it was bright and beautiful all the same.
After the year 2020, it was lovely to stand there in the semi-darkness and admire the sparkling light in the clear deep blue sky. Tension released as it hasn’t done since Mom fell two weeks ago.
She’s doing well and is now able to raise herself up from the couch (or bed) with the aid of a walker. She’s still pretty sore, but she’s so much better than she was a week ago.
A couple of days ago, my only remaining aunt (Daddy’s older sister) fell in her living room. She lives alone and is fiercely independent. She absolutely refuses to discuss having anyone come in to help with a little light housework and a bit of cooking. It would not be a financial hardship for her; she’s just hard to please and she knows it. At first, she was certain that the fall did not cause her any great injury. I told her that she would be really sore the next day. Sure enough, yesterday she said she was in a lot of pain.
But, of course, she followed that with the statement that she’d cleaned her kitchen good in case she had to go to the hospital. *eye roll* She said that she didn’t know it until she changed into her pajamas Sunday night, but she’d suffered a skin break when she fell. A retired doctor lives near her and came to bandage her small wound and said it would be fine.
This morning she called to let me know that she’d called and scheduled a doctor’s appointment because she felt much worse. I told her that I thought it was a good idea for her to see her doctor, but that it was very possible that she’s just bruised and sore. At her age, though, it’s a good idea for her doctor to ensure that she hasn’t suffered any fractures. After all, she 89, and better safe than sorry.\
She knows that she shouldn’t be living alone, but refuses to discuss any alternative arrangement. “I’m not ready for that yet.” “I don’t want to hear it.” I’m not even saying that she should go into assisted living; I just think she needs to schedule a service to come in to take care of her housekeeping and cooking.
Believe me, it falls on deaf ears. She knows I’m right, but somehow feels that her independence is in jeopardy. Independence is a two-edged sword.