How to Answer?

The question that was posed tonight was asked and answered hundreds of times before, yet it hasn't gotten any easier. Mom called and wanted to know why she should spend the end part of her life (her words, not mine) in a "cheesebox hotel room" instead of living with her family.

She never calls the nursing home what it is--she almost always refers to it as a hotel--I'm not sure whether she honestly believes she's on some perverse vacation, or whether her denial serves her in this way. I tried valiantly to sidestep the question but she kept asking and presenting a thoroughly thought out set of reasons for living with me and Larry.

1. She believes that she did everything right in her younger days and now it's time for people to help her out.

2. She thinks that she can help me with chores and cleaning, so it would make my life better.

3. There's no reason for her to stay in the hotel when she should be surrounded by family.

All of this sounds great for HER! It doesn't address the impossible changes that would happen to ME! I could never afford to hire people to stay with her, so I would need to stay home all the time or take her with me where ever I went. She would not comply with showering or taking meds the way the nursing home can manage it. Larry and I would never be able to visit our kids because we have nobody else to relieve us when we want to see them, or go on a vacation.

Now, all of this sounds terribly selfish, I also realize that I have no socially stimulating activities for her, so she would just sit in our house all day waiting for me to talk to her or take her somewhere. I cannot trust her to stay home alone, since her vision and forgetfulness pose numerous hazards--not the least of which, she could forget that the stove was on, as she did in her own apartment.

Her carefully thought out presentation to me is haunting. I pray that this one time, the dementia actually helps her forget our conversation, because I don't think I can explain the reasons to her without losing my mind. What you know intellectually, and what you feel emotionally are sometimes in conflict and there is no way to solve that.

The Tenderest Moment

As I visited my mom and uncle in the nursing home I was privileged to witness such a sweet moment between them. They are probably the most devoted brother and sister that I have ever seen, and have really spent most of their adult lives living closer and sharing more experiences than most siblings ever do.

First, my uncle was still in bed when we got to his room. My mom sweetly kissed his cheek and whispered how she wishes he'd feel so much better each day. He gently kissed her cheek and told her that he wishes every day that their old age lives could be different. Later, after lunch, he needed to wash his hands. She so tenderly moved his wheelchair to the sink and got the soap on his hands that I nearly cried, but felt like a voyeur watching them with this simple task. She helped him get the paper towels and made sure that his fingers (gnarled with arthritis) were dry. Amazingly, she commented that he dries his fingers (one at a time) just like their "Papa" always did--amazing, because she remembered something meaningful from their past!

Finally, she commented that their father was the most patient person she ever met.

This seemingly mundane snippet in the day was so tender and loving that even my mother's roommate's mother had tears in her eyes as she witnessed it. These small moments of humanity and love bring new meaning to the day.