My mother’s recent visit from New Hampshire was one of the highlights of my year thus far, but I can’t help but feel some guilt as I look back upon her stay.

Before she came, I was committed to finding the perfect balance between making her visit enjoyable and special, while at the same time respecting that at 88 years of age she needed some rest, too.

Prior to seeing me, she spent a week with my sister in Del Mar. They dined out, went shopping, visited with friends, got a manicure, and toured San Diego Zoo Safari Park.  

A week later, my mother arrived at my house with my sister and her husband, the day before the Senior Concerns gala.

Attending the gala was fun and exciting for my mom, but also exhausting. She stuck to the couch the next two days, recovering from overstimulation and a very late night.

Restaurant dining has always been a joyful experience for me.

In terms of aesthetics – at lunch, I enjoy the respite from my workday and at dinner, conversations with my husband or friends.

Regarding the food, in both cases I like trying new dishes as well as appreciating old favorites.

But in these last few years, something has changed with regards to my dining out; the amount of food I eat during those meals.

There was a time I could eat a whole sandwich at lunch or a full plate of pasta for dinner. Now, as I search menu options, I look for cups of soup, smaller appetizer portions, side salads or half orders of pasta.

Primary care providers are hard to come by

In the past five years I have had four primary care physicians. No, I am not a difficult patient, I am the product of changing dynamics in the practice of primary care.

Five years ago, I had a primary care physician I really liked. She listened to me and provided good quality care.

However, she was struggling. As the healthcare industry shifted to volume-based care, it limited her ability to offer a quality experience for her patients. She was challenged with rising operating costs, a larger administrative burden, and cuts in insurance reimbursement. 

So, she decided to “go concierge.”

Many years ago, my father-in-law Danny, who was in his late 70s, was hanging new kitchen cabinets.  Part of the job meant moving some of the ceiling tiles.

When he moved the tile directly above the kitchen sink, he happened upon a paper bag holding $8,000 in cash. 

His wife, Mary, was apoplectic when he found it. She had worked as a housekeeper for many years and had been saving her earnings in that bag to pay for new appliances or other things she wanted that her husband was less than excited about purchasing.

I remember that day vividly as I think about

I will be attending two celebrations of life this month.

The first is for my friend Margaret.

I wrote about her in one of my recent columns, about her surprise 90^th birthday party with 50 of her friends and neighbors. Margaret died in December, a week before she was scheduled to go on a trip to Africa.

I am comforted by the thought that people got to celebrate her 90^th birthday with her.

The other is for a 50-year-old work colleague who was killed by a stray bullet. He leaves behind a wife and children. His death is senseless, tragic, and shocking.

I add to this something which I have been unable to write about thus far, because it’s been too painful;