A visit with my mom from behind glass turns into the 'best moment' of her life

DETROIT – Mid-morning Saturday, I stood on the nursing home's back porch sheltered from the drizzling rain.

I felt giddy, with a mild adrenaline rush that sometimes accompanies going rogue.

Minutes earlier, driving through the small town of Northville, Michigan, I'd called the nurse's cellphone, "Can I stop by and just wave to my mom through the glass ... maybe talk to her on your cell, if that's OK?"

These days, that's a bold request. Since Monday, Michigan has been on a shelter-at-home order as cases of the coronavirus proliferate. I did not leave my house all week, hence the much-needed trip to get groceries with the nursing home nearby.

But that nursing home where my 90-year-old mother, Marcella, has lived for three years shut down all visitation about three weeks ago.

I should just go home, I thought. But I haven't seen her in nearly a month. I am used to seeing her every weekend, often taking her out to dinner and picking up her laundry. At her age and in this precarious time, there may not be a next weekend.

Yet, I'm pushing it and I'm imposing on a busy staff asking them to accommodate a whim. I silently prayed the nurse on duty would answer my call in a generous mood.

I was in luck, "I think that would be a wonderful idea," the nurse said.

So there I stood staring at an assemblage of warning signs taped to the glass door entrance: "Stop," "Always stand 6 feet apart," "No visitors permitted until further notice" and so on.

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My mother, a typical late riser, was still getting dressed even though it was closing in on noon.

When mom finally appeared at the door, a smile spread across her face when she saw me, "I'm so happy to see you," she said.

'Best moment of my life'

Mom is mobile for her age; she walks without a walker. She's still in general good health except for that invisible short-term memory thief, dementia. Her condition is moderate. She has moments of lucidity swirled in with times of self-conscious confusion.

It's hard to see her this way when I always knew her as a vibrant and brilliant woman, one of the first women to run a paint-contracting company in Detroit in the 1960s. Her company painted the interiors of many landmark buildings downtown.

Despite her many lost memories, mom always remembers me.

The nurse called my cell and handed mom the phone so we could talk while looking at each other through the glass, a bit like how prison visitations are portrayed on TV.

Mom knows about coronavirus and understood why I could not come in, but knowing her love of animals, I made sure to park my car at an angle where she could see my dog, Jessie. I snapped a picture of Jessie just in case mom couldn't see her from the door so that I could show her the photo on my phone.

But mom saw Jessie and exclaimed with delight, "Oh, isn't she sweet?"

Then, she turned to the nurse, started to cry and said, "This is the best moment of my life."

Now that made my day. I know she'll probably forget it in a few days, but I won't.

Guilty relief

It's funny how things go. As the only child, born to my parents late in their lives, their old-age care has fallen squarely on my shoulders.

Sometimes accommodating the end of their lives is burdensome, even though I don't take for granted the good fortune I had in being born to them, two good people, and the sacrifices they made for me along the way.

My mom and I have always been close, almost best friends. But as a single woman in a busy career with a house to maintain and three pets to care for all on my own, my personal time is sparse. Like many people, I often feel overwhelmed.

So when the nursing home notified me earlier this month that it was closing visitations due to the coronavirus outbreak, I felt a secret sense of relief. I'd get a break without the guilt of otherwise taking that break for my own selfish reasons.

Yet, having to say goodbye to her after only a few minutes of visiting Saturday was disappointing for us both. Mom's face, on the other side of that glass door, crinkled and contorted like a toddler on the brink of a big cry.

I told her the well-intended and comforting lie that I would see her soon. But none of us really knows when things will return to normal.

Death and disturbing videos

Nothing is normal now. I stopped to get groceries at Trader Joe's and there was a line of people standing in the pouring rain waiting to get in. That scene can't be in America, the land of plenty, can it?

The crowd stood in stark contrast to the ghostliness of the streets I drove on to get there. I'd naively thought no one would be at the stores.

The strangeness continued when I stopped for gas.

A customer ahead of me in line was discussing the pandemic with the clerk. In a gross display of xenophobia, the clerk – who ironically spoke with a foreign accent himself – whipped out his cellphone and showed the customer and me a disturbing video of an Asian man eating the head off a live frog, presumably in China. The clerk alluded to the outbreak. I looked away, disgusted.

A haunting reality

Then the customer brought up the dangers to residents in nursing homes, saying, "If one gets it, they're all dead."

Great, just great, I thought and my eyes welled up.

I have read posts on social media by people who said they lost a loved one to coronavirus. The saddest part to me was that they couldn't even hold their loved one's hand as they left this world.

My father died 13 years ago at age 81 of Alzheimer's complications. I was at work when hospice called. I left immediately to race to his bedside, but I walked in two minutes after he'd passed.

I didn't get to hold his hand or say goodbye.

For those of us with parents or grandparents in quarantine right now, the possibility is real and haunting: The last time we might see them might be only to wave at them from behind the glass.

Follow reporter Jamie L. LaReau on Twitter @jlareauan.

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This article originally appeared on Detroit Free Press: Coronavirus: As nursing home limits visits, a great moment with mom