This past year we made the collective decision for my parents to move in to our guest house. It was a conscious decision before it became a necessary one. With Evan being the last of the grandkids still at home, I secretly and selfishly want him to enjoy them while they are still healthy and active.
It's been a big adjustment for them going from 1800 to a cozy 900 sq ft. 70+ years of memories and furnishings has not been easy to pare down. They are still extremely, and sometimes stubbornly, independent. Sometimes I don't see them for a week, even though just they're across our backyard.
The roles are reversed...I worry about them like they're teenagers.
It's dark and they're not home yet.
They should have been home hours ago.
Where have you been?
You could have called.
I was worried sick.
Turn off the lights after you use them.
And then there's those mornings I get to walk across the yard and sit in my mom's kitchen and have coffee and breakfast with her. Like those rare times when she didn't work the night shift at the hospital or had to leave early to serve at the Church.
Knowing your mom is still at arms length when you need her. It's the most comforting feeling in the world.