This story is based on a conversation with Heather Boynton, 55, an office manager at an investment company. who lives in Kennewick, Washington State. It has been edited for length and clarity.
My late mom and I lived 1,200 miles apart — an 18-hour drive from my home in Washington State to Phoenix, where she’d been for five years in an assisted living facility.
Mom, who died at the end of September, at 83, had dementia and ultimately succumbed to pneumonia and sepsis.
Our family was devastated by her loss, and it drew a range of emotions for me. There was guilt that I had lived so far away, sorrow that she’d lost almost a decade of her life to such a cruel disease, and gratitude for the wonderful years we’d shared.
My son and his grandmother were as thick as thieves
It wasn’t an easy decision for Mom, a retired secretary, to move from her home in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, to the other side of the country. However, I was reassured that my older son, Josh, 33, lived 45 minutes away from the assisted living home where she had gone.
They were thick as thieves. I was a single mom when he was growing up, and Mom would always help out. She was an enormous part of our lives, watching him when I went to school in the evenings or waited tables on weekends.
Then, after I got married, moved to Arizona, and had two more kids, she would visit us several times a year for a month at a time. We called her Grammy Bear. She was beautiful, vibrant, and radiant. Theater was her favorite pastime, and she’d travel to New York City from Gettysburg to see Broadway shows like Phantom of the Opera.
Sadly, in 2015, her behavior became erratic. She started handing over big amounts of money to the trash men. In 2018 — the year that my stepfather died — she got confused while driving and accidentally drove north up the I-95. She was visibly upset in the car, and the toll person asked if she was OK.
After that, her dementia got worse. My family agreed that it was unsafe for her to live with one of us because she would wander off at all times of the day and night. We were incredibly relieved when she was accepted into a Knights of Columbus facility in Phoenix, near Josh.
I leaned on my husband for support
It’s amazing how Josh stepped up. He visited his grandmother on a regular basis, despite traveling extensively as an investor in a smoothie franchise. He’d rush to her side, whether it was changing the batteries in her TV remote control or taking her on day trips.
As for me, I made a point of calling her every day at 4:20 p.m.. I’d work over my break so I could leave my job 10 minutes early to chat with her in the car on my way home from work. I heard that consistency is key when you’re dealing with someone with dementia. I think she planned her afternoon around my call.
Still, I’d hang up crying. My husband, Scott, 61, a project manager at a nuclear plant, would console me. I don’t know how I’d have managed the stress and the pressure without his support.
I had power of attorney over Mom’s affairs, which allowed me to manage her finances and care. Still, I was 1,200 away, which made me feel like I could do more. Then Josh discovered a service called Jubilee TV, which let me watch my mother on the screen in real time.
I’d upload photographs of our friends and relatives — and they would, too, especially my nieces — and she’d look at the slideshow and reminisce. They would jog her memory, and she’d say things like, “That’s my granddaughter, Morgan,” when I posted a photo of my youngest child, now 21.
Mom was extraordinarily lucid during her last few days
Of course, it wasn’t a replacement for spending time with her in person. But it helped. It also allowed me to keep track of the different caregivers who came when they were needed.
My family and I flew to Phoenix as soon as the doctors said Mom had only a short time left. She was extraordinarily lucid during the last few days of her life. It was almost as if the dementia had disappeared as we played and sang along to her favorite Motown hits.
I feel at peace that my mother was happy before she died. We’ll always treasure her love and care.
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