Lost in Transition: Next Steps
Photo Credit: Benjamin Davies
“It’s just life. You have to be able to get up, face your flaws, and just, whatever it is, a step, an inch, you just got to keep moving forward.”
~ Monty Williams
In last week’s blog I wrote about my tumultuous experience of tumbling from one intense moment to the next upon my arrival in Victoria. I am so grateful for all the warm responses I received, so thank you, dear readers, for your kind words of support. On the plane coming home, I realized I’d only covered the first three days, that there was still so much to share about this crazy time of transitions I’m whirling about in, my family and I rediscovering who we are to one another. I decided to pick up where I left off, to uncover whatever is left to be faced, and then figure out the next steps forward.
Monday dawned early for me, before sunrise. Anxiety flooded over me as snippets of this new reality adhered onto my brain, creating a messy photo collage. The previous three days had all been too full for these extracts to take hold, but now, there I was, with a long list of responsibilities to complete, with my brother, over a very short period of time, in service to our mother. Sorting through her things, which to keep, which to let go? Purchasing a wheelchair with no idea of what kind of style or where to find one. Cheques to be signed. Decisions to be made. Forms to be completed and submitted. I realized that I needed to light a fire under my brother and pour a bucket of water over me, to get us both where we needed to be—in the middle, united and strong.
I called him as soon as I thought it was reasonable. Seven o’clock in the morning, I think. Questions and ideas exploded from my mouth like kernels of corn in hot oil. He listened patiently, and while I’m sure my rapid-fire transmission wasn’t pleasant to receive, he made space for who I am and what I needed and agreed to many of my requests of how to move forward, next steps. We were united in our priority to have Mom discharged from hospital as soon as possible, to do our best as her representatives. We divided and conquered, him taking on the forms and the finances, me off to the hospital to advocate and get the information we needed from the OT to purchase a wheelchair with the right dimensions and options.
By Thursday we had all our ducks in a row to facilitate a ten in the morning discharge. Mister and I arrived at 8:45, not a minute too soon, as we had a fresh change of clothes for Mom and hospital staff had already started dressing her in hospital-issue pajama-style garments. It was an ordeal to transfer Mom to her wheelchair, and we had to get the OT involved to make adjustments. I brushed Mom’s still beautiful, thick, silver hair. She still loves getting her hair brushed. My brother and his wife arrived, then the driver from Medi-Van. It was happening. I went with Mom in the back of the van, they gathered all her possessions, and off we went.
It was a good half hour in Victoria’s summer tourism traffic, but the time flew by, our driver a hoot, intent on sharing all kinds of stories to entertain us, about Tech inventions he’d read about like Iron Man suits and AI military and medical gear, his family, the under-resourced health system, society in decline. Then we were pulling into the driveway of Mom’s new residence, wheeling her chair through the halls to her room. I pushed her through the door, pointing out the big front entrance, the large bathroom vanity that had caught her eye during the virtual tour, the art and family photos on the wall, and the view, which if you recall from last week’s blog, is amazing. The look of pure joy on her face, her ear-to-ear smile, was a treasure to behold and I was pleased that my brother and I pulled it off, that we made it happen. She was home.
Over the following days there were never-ending transition challenges of one kind or another. Communication glitches with care staff and administrators and conflicting opinions. “She needs adaptive clothing.” “These dresses won’t do, she needs loose tops and pants we can cut.” “These tops and pants you bought won’t do, she needs dresses.” “You can request a lanyard call bell instead of the wall one.” “We don’t use lanyard call bells anymore.” Grr…SO FRUSTRATING! Madness and mayhem; still lost in transition.
Calm down Lynda. Face the flaws and tackle them one-by-one. Keep moving forward, one step, one inch at a time. Breathe. I reached out to my brother more than once over the days following Mom’s discharge from hospital and move into her new private residence, Island Health unwilling to be of any support anymore. We talked about next steps with our mom, realizing we’ll have to make more decisions in the next few months as we assess whether the respite situation she’s in should be made permanent or if a move elsewhere will serve her needs and desires better. Now that she’s out of hospital, will her mobility improve? Or her cognition? Or will she continue to decline? It’s too early to know, so we just have to wait, yet we have a date looming, her apartment needing to be cleared of all her possessions by the end of August.
In the midst of all these transitions with my mom, I was immersed in the same energy with three of my children, two of which had travelled from afar to be at the family picnic reunion, and two of which I have been in various states of disconnect for many years. The four of us had agreed to meet in the Rose Garden in Fairfield, two hours set aside amidst the madness and mayhem, for each of us to talk about our experience of being reunited, all of us together, for the first time in eight years. We took turns. No interruptions, no comments; just open, vulnerable expressions of our feelings around our shared grief, of what we’ve lost, of what we’ve endured. Were we enough? Were we too much? Did we have the capacity to move forward? To set down the past and let it rest? To take our next steps forward united and committed? By the end, all of us were in states of awe and gratitude of what had unfolded. And also, totally in fear, of what is to come.
When I stood up to go, my legs and hips creaked from so long on the ground. The enormity of what we’d just done felt like a dream, an experience made ethereal by the call of next steps, back to the Airbnb for family pizza and games night, my body already protesting while my heart screamed, “no way are we backing out lady!” By the time we got home I was overcome with pain shooting from my neck and shoulders down my right arm, abdomen cramps so severe I could barely stand, yet I kept moving forward, unable to give in because of the pinch me moment possibilities of hanging out with my children and grandchildren and husband, all under one roof.
Unreal, right? But wait, there’s more! My son and his partner got married on Tuesday, July 14, my last day in Victoria!!! They’d been trying to arrange it for a long time, thwarted by reasons too complicated and unnecessary to explain, and as it turns out, anybody can get married in BC. It was a bit of a last-minute decision, although Mister and I had been in on the secret because it was me who reached out to a marriage commissioner. I woke up that morning feeling so full of joy for them. I wanted so much to be completely present and engaged, but their wedding day was like all of the others before—full-on, intense, lost in transition. I had to navigate balancing time helping out with my grandson, time helping out my mom, time getting myself together, all at the same time. When they exchanged their vows in the courtyard of Mom’s new care home, I felt overcome with bliss, but I missed a lot, because there was my grandson on my left hip, my mom’s hand in my right hand. To further complicate my emotional muddle, it was my last day with my mother, the day I had to say goodbye. Somehow it seemed fitting that their day should be as much of a divine comedy-drama as all the rest. Somehow, it was enough. It always is.
Flying home, then being home, my head continued spinning. What are my next steps? When will I return to the island? How will things unfold with my children and grandchildren? I have to pack up my Mom’s apartment with my brother before the end of August, which quite frankly feels way too soon. I’m craving routines and I have a slew of medical appointments coming up, including another follow-up CT scan of my lungs. I sighed, knowing I will figure it out, because I have to. My next steps are just like yours, dear reader—right, left, right, left, one foot in front of the other. You just got to keep moving forward.
COMING UP…
Books & Projects:
· In December 2025 I signed a contract with Austin Macauley Publishers for my manuscript, The Trials of Alex Anderson, a character-driven novel that explores the relationship between mental illness and trauma. I am now on the road to publication, with an expected release date near the end of 2026. In February I worked with designers on the cover and its near completion. Last week I received the proofread manuscript for my review. Things are happening! I’ll be posting regular updates here on my blog and on social media, so stay tuned for exciting new developments.
· The Rogue Scorpion is available online at Amazon, Chapters-Indigo, and Barnes & Noble. You can also find it at select Chapters-Indigo and El Hombre de la Mancha bookstores.
Reviews & Interviews:
· You can read, listen, or watch a large selection of reviews and interviews on my website.
Events:
· There are no events currently scheduled in my calendar.
YouTube Channel:
· Watch The Rogue Scorpion trailer.