Reunited

In the 1970s, the popular band Peaches and Herb released a song “Reunited.” If you love the song, as I do, it’s easy to understand why it has become my anthem of choice for two women I love.

The story goes like this. After the shocking loss of two sons and cognitive decline over time, it became apparent that at age 85, my dear relative Alice, would benefit from moving into The Phyllis Siperstein Tamarisk Assisted Living Residence, a pristine, state-of- the-art residence with superlative staff and care. Her sister Rose, 10 years her senior and diagnosed with dementia, had moved there within the year as well. It seemed natural to have the girls together, particularly since they had always lived in close proximity.

Raised in a multifamily house in Providence, they were fiercely close. And, though there were other siblings, their bond was coveted. From what I know, Rose was a surrogate “other mother” to Alice and delighted in watching out for and protecting her baby sister. As married couples, they lived in apartments around the corner from each other and when the opportunity to buy homes on the East Side presented itself, they intentionally ended up a few streets apart.  There, they raised families, shared holidays, intermingled friends and quietly shared a closeness envied by most. 

As years passed, and after the loss of their spouses, they lived in apartments on the same floor at the Regency Plaza downtown. They were each other’s daily touchstone and though they respected their need for personal space, they sweetly and often ate dinner together and reminisced. 

When Rose moved to Tamarisk, Alice visited often. The separation for Alice was daunting. Rose acclimated easily and relished her sister’s visits.  When Alice finally moved to Tamarisk months later, she reveled in the luxury of visiting her sister daily without the angst of a “freeway” ride home.  Rather, she would step into the elevator, press floor number two and slink into her own room, content that her sister was close by and in good hands.

One day, Rose fell and landed in the hospital with a head wound. Petrified to walk  and with Department of Health regulations making a return to Tamarisk questionable, her daughter thought it was time to move Rose to the Boston area where she lived. There, she and her daughter could keep a watchful eye on her and not rely on her sister, staff or me to assess her needs. And, though I confess I was not keen on the move, I was aware I had neither the legal authority nor the inclination to intervene. 

Rose was transferred and confused. With her ambulatory skills returning, she was accepted by a Boston suburban residence into their dementia unit. Alice was outraged. How dare her niece unilaterally decide to move her sister. Who authorized the move, why didn’t she come back and when did this actually take place? This matter loomed large and disturbed  Alice, resulting in late-night threatening calls to both her niece and me. Despite my repeated attempts to assure her the move was perhaps in her sister’s best interest, she carried on in disbelief. 

After a couple of weeks and no doubt sick of hearing me lament about the sisters’ separation, my compassionate husband offered to take Alice to visit her sister. I was not convinced I would be able to handle Alice if I took her myself, particularly the first time. That said, I promised her I would take her to see her Rose every two weeks, hoping that would appease her.

Two weeks later, as promised, Alice and I visited Rose. I walked out incensed. The facility, not what I would call a residence, was disgusting. Rose was filthy and the unit reeked of urine. I was beside myself and, feeling desperate, called an out of town loving cousin (the sisters’ niece) to ask for advice.

After our brief conversation, I felt empowered. Why shouldn’t I appeal to Rose’s daughter to return her mother to Tamarisk in Rhode Island and her sister?  After all, their presence in each other’s lives sustained them.  They were dependent on each other now and had been their whole lives. To Rose’s daughter and granddaughter’s credit, they consented to Rose’s return.

I remember that day vividly.  Rose kept saying, ”I’m home, I’m home.” Staff was thrilled to have her back, and her sister was elated.

As my daughters love to say, it has been about a year that “the band has been back together” and though their mental capacity ebbs and flows, I delight in watching them. Seated side by side, hands clasped, exchanging pleasantries or catnapping, they are peaceful together. In their company, I am keenly aware of their deep abiding love … and have on more than one occasion mouthed the lyrics, “Reunited, and it feels so good.”

EDITOR’S NOTE: The names were changed to protect their privacy.

SUSAN BAZAR delights in highlighting sandwich generation experiences and caring for family.