A Place Called Canterbury by Dudley Clendinen
While in Maine, I struck up a conversation with a man getting out of a car with Florida license plates. I was, after all in Maine, a very long way from my home in Florida and he was too. We were probably neighbors.
The man said he lived in Tampa and we exchanged niceties. How we got to the subject of moving our elderly relatives into assisted living, I'm not sure. My vacation in Maine hadn't yet relieved the migraine headache of moving my 92 year old step mother, June, into a place she didn't want to have anything to do with. I'd had a very stressful summer. He was in the midst of the same scenario with his elderly mother. We told each other our war stories. He mentioned A Place Called Canterbury since it's about a place in Tampa and his mother had recently moved there. I was still looking for the magic wand that would make this stage of life calm and wonderful for my step mother, so I downloaded the book as soon as I got back home.
The first paragraph started by saying that Dudley's mother had relented and agreed to sell her home and move to Canterbury. June on the other hand, went kicking and screaming. My sister and I employed all kinds of tricks and told oodles of white lies during the time it took to extract her from her apartment. We never knew we were even capable of saying such things, especially to someone we loved and respected. While she wasn't our mother, we'd known her for over 50 years. The word "relented" shut me down from the start. This whole process would have been easy if June had only chosen to accept that she needed more care.
A Place Called Canterbury did have some bits of brilliance. I laughed out loud in some parts and cried in others. I understood Mr. Clendinen's pain at watching his mother hang on to life even when time after time, the doctor or nurse had told him the end was near. And I especially enjoyed Sweetso, who continued to smoke even when she was told not to. June loved to say she never had a cigarette she didn't enjoy. If 70 years of smoking hadn't killed her yet, I doubt that it would. Sweetso felt the same way.
Mainly however, I found this story very disconnected. The backstory became long and laborious, taking me away from the real story of people who have lost their purpose in the later years of their lives. I skimmed alot. I couldn't find the magic wand I'd so desperately been searching for. I know in my heart that there's no simple answer. But if A Placed Called Canterbury can help anyone else in this situation, then that is magic enough for me.
While in Maine, I struck up a conversation with a man getting out of a car with Florida license plates. I was, after all in Maine, a very long way from my home in Florida and he was too. We were probably neighbors.
The man said he lived in Tampa and we exchanged niceties. How we got to the subject of moving our elderly relatives into assisted living, I'm not sure. My vacation in Maine hadn't yet relieved the migraine headache of moving my 92 year old step mother, June, into a place she didn't want to have anything to do with. I'd had a very stressful summer. He was in the midst of the same scenario with his elderly mother. We told each other our war stories. He mentioned A Place Called Canterbury since it's about a place in Tampa and his mother had recently moved there. I was still looking for the magic wand that would make this stage of life calm and wonderful for my step mother, so I downloaded the book as soon as I got back home.
The first paragraph started by saying that Dudley's mother had relented and agreed to sell her home and move to Canterbury. June on the other hand, went kicking and screaming. My sister and I employed all kinds of tricks and told oodles of white lies during the time it took to extract her from her apartment. We never knew we were even capable of saying such things, especially to someone we loved and respected. While she wasn't our mother, we'd known her for over 50 years. The word "relented" shut me down from the start. This whole process would have been easy if June had only chosen to accept that she needed more care.
A Place Called Canterbury did have some bits of brilliance. I laughed out loud in some parts and cried in others. I understood Mr. Clendinen's pain at watching his mother hang on to life even when time after time, the doctor or nurse had told him the end was near. And I especially enjoyed Sweetso, who continued to smoke even when she was told not to. June loved to say she never had a cigarette she didn't enjoy. If 70 years of smoking hadn't killed her yet, I doubt that it would. Sweetso felt the same way.
Mainly however, I found this story very disconnected. The backstory became long and laborious, taking me away from the real story of people who have lost their purpose in the later years of their lives. I skimmed alot. I couldn't find the magic wand I'd so desperately been searching for. I know in my heart that there's no simple answer. But if A Placed Called Canterbury can help anyone else in this situation, then that is magic enough for me.
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