“When I Took My Aging Mother In, I Thought It Would Be Tough”: Nearly Two Weeks of Living Together

Living alone in the bustling city of Chicago, I, Hailey, had grown accustomed to the fast-paced lifestyle and the independence it brought. My small apartment on the north side was my sanctuary, a place just big enough for me and my thoughts. That was until two weeks ago when my mother, Savannah, came to live with me.

Savannah had always been the rock of our family, living in our quaint hometown in Illinois where everyone knew each other. After my father, James, passed away unexpectedly last year, she tried to keep up with her usual routines, but it was clear she was struggling. The loneliness of the house seemed to echo around her, and each phone call I received from her sounded more despondent than the last.

I made the decision to bring her to Chicago with me. I thought it would be tough, adjusting my life to fit hers, but I underestimated just how challenging it would be.

The first few days were a blur of activity. I took time off work to help Savannah settle in, rearranging my apartment to make room for her things. We bought a new bed for the living room that would serve as her bedroom, and I tried to introduce her to the rhythms of city life. But as the days passed, the challenges grew.

Savannah struggled with the noise and the pace of the city. The sounds of traffic kept her awake at night, and the crowded streets made her anxious during the day. She missed her garden, her community, and the peace of the countryside. I could see the sadness in her eyes as she looked out of the window at the concrete jungle that surrounded us.

I tried to make things better. I took her to parks and tried to find quiet spots where she could feel at ease, but nothing seemed to work. She grew more withdrawn, spending hours sitting silently, staring at nothing. I felt helpless, torn between my life here and her happiness.

As the days turned into a week, the strain started to affect my work. My boss, Kenneth, was understanding at first, but as my performance slipped, his patience waned. I found myself snapping at colleagues, my thoughts always drifting back to the apartment and whether Savannah was okay.

Then, one evening, I came home to find Savannah crying quietly in the dark. She said she felt like a burden, a disruption in my life. It broke my heart to hear her talk like that, but part of me also felt trapped. This wasn’t working, but what were the alternatives?

We talked about other options—perhaps a senior living community would be better, where she could be with people her age. But the thought of sending her away felt like a betrayal, especially after promising my father I would look after her.

The situation reached a breaking point last night. Savannah had a fall while I was at work. She wasn’t seriously injured, but the fear in her eyes when I rushed home was something I’ll never forget. It was a wake-up call for both of us. We realized that this arrangement might not be sustainable.

As I sit here, typing this, Savannah is packing her things. We’ve decided that she will move to a nearby assisted living facility where she can receive the care she needs. It feels like a failure on my part, not being able to give her the home she needs with me. The guilt is overwhelming, but perhaps this is for the best.

Life has a way of throwing curveballs, and this one has been particularly hard to catch.