I returned to work six days after getting sick when I finally got a negative COVID test. I think it took two days after dropping my mom off before the rehab started calling and saying that she wanted to leave. I would see their number coming up on my phone and cringe.
"Tell her if she's checking out she's going to have to fucking Uber because I'm not picking her up." I told the desk guy.
"And look, I'm sorry. I'm just really pissed off at her."
"I'll tell her. We just can't keep her against her will. She is refusing to leave the medical detox area to go over to the therapy side, too." he explained.
I walked across the blacktop with a few of my students, still administering testing.
"I really wish Donald Trump wasn't president." David announced.
"Yeah..." I kind of mumbled. That makes two of us.
"My mom, she no leave the house now. She watches me through the window when I wait for the bus." he continued.
That poor woman, was all I could think. I knew that she had already been deported once before, seperated from her husband and children. They don't deserve this.
I started looking up assisted living places. Most won't even tell you on their websites how much they cost. The levels of care jargon is confusing, too. Finally, I went to the Place for Mom website. I have seen their commercials on my Love Boat channel. Their representatives started calling and emailing me immediately. I hesitated, feeling overwhelmed by everything.
"So, there are these people going around taking all the Guatemalan people away, taking them back to Guatemala." Mercedes said, eyes widening a little.
"I am so sorry. I know this must be really scary for your family." I responded.
"Yeah." she answered, her little face serious.
"My mom, she say she might just move back to Guatemala, you know, when I am older...."
I knew I was going to cry. And that it wasn't fair for me to, because Mercedes was the one with the right to cry.
The rehab called again, saying my mom was pushing to leave. I finally returned the calls from the Place for Mom people. Some guy really hooked me up, brought up some valuable information that I had never considered and gave me the names of three places in metro-Atlanta that my mom could actually afford with her monthly Social Security. I made an appointment to visit one that Friday. Then, when the rehab called again, I moved the appointment to Thursday.
"Wagner, there are three police SUVs out front." the text said.
The implication was that it could be ICE. I walked along the side of the school and peered out front, trying to see where the SUVs were from. Later, in the hall, another teacher mentioned the police trucks. It turned out to be the School Safety weird school police. I was glad that the various teachers were worried about my students and wanted to alert me. But I also wondered if ICE ever really came would they simply call and text me or help me save my kids? My mind started going through the logistics, again. Forty kids, obviously couldn't fit all of them in Alec's Honda. What would we do, run? Run to the church down the street and hope that ICE wouldn't enter? How would I get all of them out of the various classrooms and outside before ICE got them? Should we just hide in the trailer and turn the lights off? Should I just get the Asian and Latino kids because maybe ICE wouldn't realize that my Black kids were immigrants too?
I walked around the assisted living place. It is in Decatur, conveniently located between my work and home and close to every Emory medical facility known to man. They would administer my mom's meds, clean her apartment, do her laundry, change her sheets, help her bathe. Three meals a day, prepared. Coffee and soup available all day in the lobby. Nice common areas to watch TV, a little library, a lady that comes by to cut their hair, even a little store. Rides to the doctor, two days a week. Clubs, classes. And the big one, a twenty-four hour clicker if she needed assistance. No more "I've fallen" calls and me yelling at her to call 911. I knew that assisted living wouldn't keep her on the wagon, but at least I wouldn't be the one having to pick her up off of the floor. No more worrying about her being in that house with weird people hanging around. Or break-ins.
"So, what type of rehab would she be moving in from? Physical therapy?" the coordinator lady asked.
"Um, no. Alcohol." I was afraid to tell her. I was afraid they would say no.
"Well, I have advice. Take her cards and do a factory reset on her phone. And, I can help run interference. Technically, alcohol isn't safe for her to have with her medication so I have a good reason not to accept delivery or to remove it from her kitchen. Take her directly from the rehab to here. Do not let her back in that house."
By the end of the visit, the coordinator saw that I was starting to cry and hugged me.
I asked the rehab to have my mom call me and she finally did. I was shocked at how normal she sounded, how much better she sounded than even a few days ago when I dropped her off.
"Mom, I understand that you want to leave. I want you to go into assisted living. It is not safe the way you have been living. The drinking, the falling, the break-ins, weird people in your house. It's not safe mom."
"You know, I think you're right." she responded.
"I found a place. It is in City of Decatur. It's within your monthly budget. They will clean your apartment, they'll cook all your meals, they even clean and change your sheets and help you bathe if you need it."
"You're kidding, that sounds great!" she responded.
I was shocked.
"But mom, you can't check yourself out of the rehab. I am begging you. You have to stay until Monday. They don't allow move-ins on the weekends. Please mom, don't check yourself out."
I was crying again.
"I won't." she said.
"I will see you on Monday."
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