I kissed her forehead, our tears mixing, and promised no one was going to stop me. She would not spend another night in this nursing home.
I pushed the call button. No response. I followed the cord to the wall and found it disconnected. My heart racing, I tracked down an aide and demanded that a nurse come to my mother's room immediately. At 88, she was examined with nonchalance and covered back up.
I called the manager to her room and told her I was taking Mom home.
The nursing staff gathered in force, attempting to convince me that her release was a long process, that my mother could still benefit from their help. Her stay in the nursing home had been a temporary transition needed after being hospitalized with a stroke.
But I knew my mother had been harmed. I feared the worse. And I feared for her life if she stayed there.
I called her doctor to sign a release form, and I phoned a service for private medical transport. I also called my husband and said, "I need to bring Mom home with us today. Go get Daddy."
At the front door of the nursing home, the management staff lined up to wish us well. They invited us to come back and visit.
"Thank you," I told them, "but we will never drive by this road again."