I Showed Up at Mom’s Nursing Home — What They Told Me Left Me Speechless

I Went to Visit My Mother at Her Nursing Home – They Told Me She Had Checked Out a Week Earlier

Rachel learns the unimaginable when she gets to her mother’s nursing home: her mother was released a week ago. Rachel, however, never signed her out.

It was someone else. And what do they call her? A specter of the past that was never meant to come back.

“What do you mean my mom was discharged a week ago?” Leaning on the reception desk of the elderly home, I raised my voice to a terrified level.

“That’s what it says on the system, Rachel,” denied receptionist Denise. “Maybe it’s an error…”

Denise swung her fingers across the keyboard. I waited for her to grin and tell me that everything had been a huge mistake while I stared at her face with my heart in my throat.

Rather, she scowled.

Softly, “It’s not an error,” she said. Last week, she was released. Our records show that her daughter signed her out, although I wasn’t at work that day.

Then Denise looked up at me. “I’ve only ever seen you coming to visit Joyce, but the woman who signed her out is called Lauren.”

“Lauren?” was the name that was gasped out. “That… that’s impossible!”

“She provided all the necessary documentation,” Denise added. “Are you telling me this woman is a fraud?”

“I… no, probably not.” I scowled down at the warm cardigan and freshly made banana bread I had brought to Mom. “I’m grateful, Denise. From here, I’ll handle it. The banana bread is yours to keep.

After grabbing the cardigan, I pivoted on my heel. I didn’t look around, but Denise called after me. Finding Mom and pursuing Lauren were the only things on my mind.

I tried to collect my racing thoughts while taking a deep breath of fresh air outside in the parking lot.

Mom was rescued from her nursing facility by my sister, Lauren, whom I hadn’t seen or spoken to in ten years.

Lauren was playing the role of the protective daughter, even though she hadn’t called on Mom’s 70th birthday or read the message I wrote her three years prior informing her that Mom was in the early stages of dementia.

I strode up to my car after shaking my head.

This was all illogical. Lauren made it apparent that she didn’t want to interact with us any longer when she left (after a heated disagreement with Mom).

Overnight, she vanished.

Lauren had no idea that Mom was present.

And why, after all these years, would she take her?

As I opened my car, the most terrifying concern of all came to mind: how in the world could Lauren look after Mom?

I gripped the cardigan tightly against my breast as I fell into the driver’s seat. The most difficult choice I had ever made was to place Mom in a nursing home, but I had no other option.

I had come to the realization that I could no longer take care of Mom alone after she shattered her hip in a fall.

I was unable to leave Mom alone at home because I work full-time. I couldn’t let her damage herself in another accident.

Another worry was her deteriorating memory; what if she chose to prepare something and neglected to switch off the gas? or unintentionally took two doses of her drug?

Mom still remembered a few things. She needed regular monitoring, although she could usually carry on a somewhat intelligible discussion and remembered me.

Mom would be in danger without that kind of attention.

I had to find Lauren quickly so I could get Mom back.

I took out my cell phone and called Lauren’s last number. I was notified by a voice that was robotic that the number was no longer operational.

It wasn’t, of course.

My next effort was on Facebook.

Her profile photo from 2013 was still there, frozen in time. I sent a straightforward message:

“Where is Mom?”

I waited for several minutes in the hopes of receiving a response or confirmation that she had received the message, but I never heard back.

I murmured, “Then we’ll do this the hard way,” and got into my car to drive home.

I contacted everyone I could think of for two days, including Lauren’s dubious ex-husband, Mom’s old neighbors, and cousins we hardly ever spoke to. Nothing. They seemed to have vanished.

A breakthrough came just as I was about to hire a private investigator.

While mercilessly searching Instagram for Lauren, I stumbled into a brand-new account named “The Sunrise Caregiver.”

Mostly to rule it out, I clicked on it.

When I saw the first picture on the feed, my coffee mug fell out of my hands and broke on the kitchen tile.

Lauren sat next to Mom in a wonderfully filtered shot.

Lauren’s manicured fingers grabbed Mom’s slender hand.

Mom’s eyes appeared blank and perplexed. She was wearing her sweater backwards. The robin calendar I had purchased for Mom’s room was hanging behind them.

I was furious when I read the caption beneath the picture:

“Taking care of my life-giving woman. Family comes first. #familyfirst #eldercare #daughterduty Please click the link in my bio to contribute to Mom’s care journey.

I found a crowdfunding campaign via the link in the bio.

“Help support Mom’s care after I rescued her from neglect” was the campaign’s title.

Mom was seen in the picture looking straight into the camera, her eyes full with perplexity and dread. There was a paragraph of sickening language underneath that.

“I’ve come to terms with my absence as the alienated daughter who came home just in time. Mom needs to be saved from an environment of neglect. Before, I wasn’t there, but now I am. Second chances might occasionally present themselves when you least expect them and most need them.

Lauren had nearly $1000 in donations already. The post was swamped with comments:

“You’re such a hero!”

“She’s lucky to have you back in her life!”

“Angels walk among us!”

I enlarged the picture of Mom. Her nails were chipping from the light lavender lacquer I had applied during my previous visit. I had brought her that sweatshirt last month.

It was more than just thievery. It was erasure. I was being erased from Mom’s story by Lauren.

In the process, she was earning money.

“How dare you!” I screamed into my kitchen, which was empty. “Lauren, you little…”

With a barrage of curses, I smashed my palm down on the table. Lauren had been silent for ten years, but to treat Mom like a cash cow? That was perverse, not just heartless.

Furthermore, I would not allow her to get away with it.

I said, “This is not how our story ends,” as I walked off the website.

I discovered a lawyer after scrolling for half an hour. I made an urgent appointment to see him the following day ten minutes later.

For the remainder of the evening, I printed out screenshots of Lauren’s crowdfunding campaign and social media accounts. I also sent Denise at the assisted living facility an urgent email.

I had a folder full of proof by the time I entered the lawyer’s office, including screenshots of Lauren’s fundraising efforts, visiting logs from the nursing home that showed I had been every weekend, pictures taken over the previous three years, and notes from care plan meetings that I had signed on each page.

However, a voicemail from Mom that I had stored on my phone six months prior served as my hidden weapon.

“This is Mom, Rachel, honey. I wanted to express my gratitude for mending my TV and for the magazines. For the visit as well. I appreciate your constant presence, honey. The only person who does is you. I adore you.

My lawyer, Javier, reviewed everything and gave a nod.

“We’ll file for emergency guardianship,” he added.

I was surprised by how cold the courtroom was. Before glancing up, the judge calmly went over our case files.

“You’ve stated, Lauren, that your mother was neglected. Could you give further details?

Lauren used the tissue she had been holding since entering to dab at her eyes.

“Your Honor, when I recently got back in touch with my mother, I discovered that she was in very bad health. She had not trimmed her nails or washed her hair.

Her voice broke sharply. “I couldn’t bear to see her like that, so I brought her home where I could give her proper care.”

Lauren’s performance was worthy of an Oscar. She shed a tear or two. However, I possessed something far more potent than crocodile tears and acting prowess.

Javier gave the judge all of my printed evidence when it was my turn. I played Mom’s voicemail and showed her doctor’s and caseworker’s statements from the home.

The judge’s gavel landed with a resounding crack two hours later.

“Rachel has been given guardianship, with immediate effect. By the end of business today, Lauren will turn Joyce over to her.

I took Mom back to her nursing home room that afternoon. I laid out fresh lemon muffins and replaced the robin calendar.

Mom’s eyes were hazy yet present as she gazed at me. “You came,” she said in a whisper.

I carefully took her hand, being mindful of her frail skin. “Mom, always. Always.

She might not even recall that Lauren had taken her, let alone that she had been gone for a week.

However, I would.

And I would be there, as always, with manicures on Sundays and banana bread on Saturdays.

Because love looks like that. It involves consistently being there for your loved ones, even when no one else is around.