“Campus,” my mother scoffed.
“Yes, please,” I said, though it felt like a waste of time and effort given my mother’s recalcitrant demeanor.
Shirley Farley walked us past the fountains and flower beds. “We try to get our clients outside as much as possible,” she said. “Fresh air is so important.”
“My husband needs constant supervision,” my mother said. “I hope you don’t leave patients alone.”
“Dr. Laurence mentioned your husband’s condition,” Farley said. “He would have a member of the staff with him any time he is outdoors.”
We proceeded to a communal dining hall. “Some of our clients prefer to eat in their rooms, and we accommodate that,” Farley said, “but we have also found that communal activities, such as dining, have therapeutic effects. We also have movie nights, a book club, chess club, and supervised athletic activities.”
My mother looked away.
“What type of effects have you noticed?” I asked.
“Our clients exhibit lower rates of depression and increased energy, which promotes their rehabilitation.”
“Do any of them ever leave?” my mother asked.
“Some have,” Farley said. “But I’m going to be honest, Mrs. Hill. Most are here for the duration, which is why we do our best to make it as comfortable as possible. May I show you one of our rooms?”
The room Mrs. Farley showed us looked more like an apartment than a hospital room. The walls were a salmon color, the furniture beige and brown. A pony-wall partition separated the main room from a small kitchen with a two-burner stove top, an oven, a refrigerator, and cabinets. The bedroom and bathroom were off the living area.
“This is nice,” I said, standing in the kitchen. “Mom?”
“Your father will not be doing any cooking,” my mother said.
“I understood you liked to cook, Mrs. Hill,” Farley said. I had mentioned it to her when we’d spoken on the phone.
“Me?” my mother asked. “Why would that matter? Don’t you feed him here?”
Farley smiled. “Of course, but I assumed you would be spending much of your time with your husband, having meals together.”
“She could do that?” I asked.
“Many of our clients’ spouses eat with them.”
That caught my mother’s attention. “Could she spend the night?” I asked.
“I’m afraid not, but we have extended visiting hours.” She looked to my mother, but my mother had moved to a sliding glass door that looked out on a small patio with a view of the mountains and the reservoir. When Farley looked to me, I shrugged. “Why don’t I give you some time to think it over,” she said. “I’ll be in my office if you have any further questions. I’ve prepared a packet for you to take with you. It’s at the front desk.”
After Farley left, I walked to where my mother stood, and we stared out at the reservoir. No doubt she was wondering the same thing I was wondering—how had we gotten here? How had our lives changed so dramatically in an instant?
“What do you think, Mom?” I asked rhetorically. We both knew the facility was the best on the list. Neither of us wanted to feel as though we were dumping my father, but it didn’t matter how we felt. This was reality, and sometimes reality sucked.
“I think this is the pits,” she said.
“I know,” I said. “But it’s better than the others, and the staff seems friendly.”
“I don’t mean the facility,” she said.