Merry 92nd Christmas, Papa, and to all DU caregivers
After a family intervention nearly 4 years ago, my aged folks moved from Portland, Maine to within 1/4 of a mile from me in Los Angeles. My mother was in the throws of dementia and life had obviously become an endurance contest for my father. He retained his sharp, inquisitive mind, but was fast becoming very physically frail. After Mom died on the 4th of July in 2011, I moved him in with me.
We fixed up my younger son's room for him where he could get on his computer, read voraciously, Netflix, try his hand at painting, watch all the sporting events he loves (GO, Patriots), nap, play host to a loving dog, cat, dwarf hamster, and watch the birds and squirrels gather outside his sliding glass door. Over the years, we made trips back East, to San Francisco and Wisconsin to visit relatives. We also traveled to many different doctors, to the library, to church, to restaurants and a couple museums. It was an arrangement that seemed to be working for both of us.
Last summer he announced that he wanted to look into VA housing in West L.A., about 40 minutes away. I was puzzled, but he was very enthusiastic about this new facility. So we went and checked it out. He loved the architecture and seemed okay with a semi-private room with a shared bathroom. He even told the admissions person who gave us the tour he'd like to start a newsletter for residents. To me, it was still an institution, but I kept my doubts to myself. I hoped he would change his mind. Instead, he asked me to help him fill out tons of forms and to send off the required medical survey to his doctor. He was placed on a waiting list.
One day I came out with it. I said, "Dad, none of my friends who know you think this is a good idea. What do your friends think?" He said honestly, they were not elated. So I asked him what was really behind his thinking. He replied that he wanted to hold onto his autonomy and that he didn't want to burden me by dying in my home.
I told him he would never be a burden in life or death. If needed, we would set up a hospice situation as we had done with my mom. But in the meantime, that he had no worries. He could come to the breakfast table in his pajamas, have his own room and bathroom, eat whenever he felt like it, go on outings both planned and impromptu, invite friends over, etc., etc. Then I took his hands and told him, "No one at the Vets loves you, Dad, but here you are loved."
He changed his mind and said I was right. So tomorrow morning I won't have to hop on the 10 freeway to pick him up to bring him here to celebrate Christmas. He's already home, and I'm so grateful he realizes that. Merry Christmas, Papa, and to all the other proud and exemplary members of your generation!
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for Papa
are a blessing to your parents. It's not always possible for siblings to step up, but with folks living into their 90's, it's really great when they can. The VA would have swiped 75% of my dad's Social Security...now he has more fun pin money.
you are NOT an uppityperson, you are a gloriousperson.
