Fear Not!

When my 78-year-old widowed mother first moved into the in-law apartment attached to our house, I wasn’t so sure it was going to work out.

For as long as I could remember, “prickly” had been the best word to describe our relationship. When I was a little girl, Mom and I were like two negatively polarized magnets, like the little plastic apple and orange stuck on our refrigerator door.

I loved my mother, but we were different in so many ways. She was disorganized, spontaneous, comfortable with clutter. I was a bit of a control freak… okay, a major control freak. My idea of fun as a kid was alphabetizing the books in my bedroom bookcase, while Mom loved to spend the day clothes shopping. She was the kind of person who loved it when friends dropped by unexpectedly for a cup of tea and chat. I liked having company, too, but preferred advanced notice—24 hours, minimum.

I had two young children and a new puppy. What would it be like with Mom living so close, with nothing separating our two households but a thin wall? What if it didn’t work out? What if we didn’t get along? What if we were all making a big mistake? What if, dear God, what if?