The Move: A bad beginning

 I just had to make a note of this conversation somewhere, and so here it is.

"Hey Mom? I've been thinking about where I might put my desk when I come down in September to stay. The dining room table is too high, and causes my back to hurt."

"How about the Library?" she asks.

I go to look and measure; there are three large bookcases lining the walls, a day bed, her 'desk' which is my grandparent's old dining room table and too high to work at. There is no spare wall space. I report back to Mom, "I think it would work but we would need to remove one of the bookcases."

"We can't do that, where would I put my books?" She thinks for a minute and when I try to interject a comment she says bruskly, "don't talk to me!"  Another long minute goes by and she turns to look at me. "I guess you can't come."

I take a breath, then show her a picture of my desk at home, and how small and compact it is. We talk about where in the house we could move the bookcase, then I suggest putting my desk from home between the dining room and the living room in a nook under a window.

She thinks this might work, the rocking chair I would displace 'can go anywhere' she muses aloud.

I am left feeling like nothing. With less value than shelves of books she knows are there but no longer reads, the library a dusty cluttered hidey-hole of days gone by.

I am not deterred. Maybe there is a way to raise the floor in front of the library desk so I can sit at the right height and work in comfort. It's good I started the conversation now, reminding her that me coming to live with her will be a disruption, and not the same as me coming to visit.

While I still have doubts, I am filled with a sense of purpose, and not angry at the rejection. I know she loves me, just not as much as she needs her things around her. She is 90, what can I say.