Sunday, Sunday

 After my father’s passing, my 67-year-old mother moved into a one-bedroom apartment in a brand-new 55+ community. The unit was cozy and comfortable.

My sister and her husband lived nearby, but they spent their summer months abroad annually. Ross and I lived about an hour away. My other siblings were scattered about. 

Initially, my mother was quite content with her new place. She participated in a number of community activities. Although she didn’t drive, there were stores within walking distance, and a community bus served her needs.

As the years passed, she was probably about the age I am now, she began to develop health issues and limitations. It was then that she started to feel more isolated and lonely.

She would confide in me about her sadness, saying, “I have six children and 13 grandchildren, and hardly ever hear from anyone.” Those emotional expressions of loneliness now deeply resonate with me.

Although my circumstances differ from my mother’s, the feelings are so relatable. I now understand what Mom was trying to convey. Just like mine, her children actually did call and visit. However, it was during the many hours between phone calls and visits (and for some reason, Sundays seemed to be the worst) that my mom struggled with loneliness with much difficulty.

My mom moved in with us during the last few months of her life.  

I am grateful that we got to spend those remains Sundays together.