It has been more than three years since my mother moved into
a seniors’ home. But time hasn’t made the memory of the eve of her move less
heart-wrenching.

THE NIGHT BEFORE (May
2016):

Tomorrow we are
moving my 89-year-old mother to a seniors’ residence. She has been in transition, living with us
for the last 10 months when it became clear she could no longer live alone. It has not been an unqualified success. We live in the suburbs and it is lonely and
isolated for her, especially since I work full-time. So, tomorrow, she is moving into a residence
closer to her old neighbourhood. The thought of this frightens her in the same
way a child’s first day of kindergarten might. “But I won’t know anyone,” she
tells me. I try to reassure her that there are activities she can join where she
will meet people without even…