My mom was on a short errand last week when I called the house. My dad answered the phone.
After some small talk, my dad asked me a cryptic question: “Is there anything serious you want to tell me about your mother?”
I thought for a minute, but couldn’t come up with any secrets my mother had recently shared or serious conversations we had over the past few weeks.
“I can’t think of anything,” I told my dad, and he seemed OK with that reply. A few days later, I asked my mom if she knew what dad’s question was all about.
Frustrated, she said, “Your dad has too much time on his hands to think! He’s worried I’m going to put him in a nursing home.”
It dawned on me this line of thought has been on my dad’s mind a lot lately. Recently, my aunt and uncle invited my mom to visit them down South this winter for a week’s respite. My sister offered to care for my dad, who has advanced Parkinson’s disease, during that time.
For the record, many of us have encouraged my mom to go away for some respite time for herself, and all three daughters have been very willing to care for my dad during that time. My mom has always said no.
My dad views my mother’s respite as a way to separate her from his everyday care and as a step closer to his going into a nursing home.
The first time I heard my dad express his concerns about this was when my mother consented to in-home care two years ago. Six days a week, a paid caregiver comes over to bathe my dad. My father was against this from the beginning and begrudgingly agreed because the family wouldn’t take no for an answer. My mom needed the help but in hindsight, he might have felt railroaded into agreeing.
The second time occurred three months ago. My mother was awarded three hours of respite care every other week from an Area Agency on Aging grant. She takes that time to run errands, which means more separation from my father.
My dad’s fear of being “sent to a nursing home” probably stems from his placing his own father in one. After my grandmother’s passing at age 92, Grandpa, also in his 90s, was cared for by his grandson, who moved into the home with him.
This lasted about a year until Grandpa started wandering and experiencing other dementia symptoms.
Against my grandpa’s wishes and with great guilt, my dad placed his father in a nursing home. Visiting my grandfather in the first few months was very painful, as he kept pleading to go home.
My dad himself was in a nursing home after a brief hospitalization this past spring.
Dad was desperate to get home to his own environment. After four days, with the help of home health services, the doctor allowed him to return home.
I feel for my dad. I can’t imagine what it is like to have lived this long and be afraid that you will have no control over your destiny.
My mother, sisters and I have told my father we will do everything in our power to care for him at home even if my mom goes before he does. But my father is keenly aware he is unable to do many things, and his speech and swallowing are getting worse.
Aging with a disease brings with it a great deal of loss, fear, compromise and dependence. And caregiving for a person with a disease brings with it medical, ethical and emotional choices.
This is a powerful mix because time is precious as we age, and decisions have a much greater and lasting impact. So my dad sits and thinks, worring about his future.
My parents’ story may seem sad, but it is filled with many blessings too—great children and grandchildren who love and respect them, no financial worries and a tremendous devotion to each other that will, in the end, be the inspiration that guides the difficult choices they have to make.
It dawned on me this line of thought has been on my dad’s mind a lot lately. Recently, my aunt and uncle invited my mom to visit them down South this winter for a week’s respite. My sister offered to care for my dad, who has advanced Parkinson’s disease, during that time.
For the record, many of us have encouraged my mom to go away for some respite time for herself, and all three daughters have been very willing to care for my dad during that time. My mom has always said no.
My dad views my mother’s respite as a way to separate her from his everyday care and as a step closer to his going into a nursing home.
The first time I heard my dad express his concerns about this was when my mother consented to in-home care two years ago. Six days a week, a paid caregiver comes over to bathe my dad. My father was against this from the beginning and begrudgingly agreed because the family wouldn’t take no for an answer. My mom needed the help but in hindsight, he might have felt railroaded into agreeing.
The second time occurred three months ago. My mother was awarded three hours of respite care every other week from an Area Agency on Aging grant. She takes that time to run errands, which means more separation from my father.
My dad’s fear of being “sent to a nursing home” probably stems from his placing his own father in one. After my grandmother’s passing at age 92, Grandpa, also in his 90s, was cared for by his grandson, who moved into the home with him.
This lasted about a year until Grandpa started wandering and experiencing other dementia symptoms.
Against my grandpa’s wishes and with great guilt, my dad placed his father in a nursing home. Visiting my grandfather in the first few months was very painful, as he kept pleading to go home.
My dad himself was in a nursing home after a brief hospitalization this past spring.
Dad was desperate to get home to his own environment. After four days, with the help of home health services, the doctor allowed him to return home.
I feel for my dad. I can’t imagine what it is like to have lived this long and be afraid that you will have no control over your destiny.
My mother, sisters and I have told my father we will do everything in our power to care for him at home even if my mom goes before he does. But my father is keenly aware he is unable to do many things, and his speech and swallowing are getting worse.
Aging with a disease brings with it a great deal of loss, fear, compromise and dependence. And caregiving for a person with a disease brings with it medical, ethical and emotional choices.
This is a powerful mix because time is precious as we age, and decisions have a much greater and lasting impact. So my dad sits and thinks, worring about his future.
My parents’ story may seem sad, but it is filled with many blessings too—great children and grandchildren who love and respect them, no financial worries and a tremendous devotion to each other that will, in the end, be the inspiration that guides the difficult choices they have to make.
