This post is from Nancy Healey. Thank you, Nancy, for sharing this story with us!
“Getting old is not for sissies” was one of my Mom’s favorite expressions as she grew older. I simply considered this to be something that old people said, but I am sure I had no understanding of the real challenges she and other seniors faced.
My Mom was 63 when I left home In Richmond Virginia and moved to New York. She was a great cook, belonged to the local garden club, made sure the house was always immaculate and did everything possible to make my Dad’s life happy. She had not worked since I was born and had never learned to drive. My Dad did all the home maintenance, cut the grass, paid the bills and was generally “the man of the house.” I think they were very happy living the conventional lifestyle of the sixties in the home they loved. When my Mom was 64, my Dad died unexpectedly of a massive heart attack while playing his weekly round of golf. She had been next to the youngest of 12 children but only had one sister left who lived several hundred miles away.
So my Mom in her sixties was left with a 3-story home and yard to take care of and a Cocker Spaniel they had loved for years. I was very concerned about how she would handle everything without my Dad and called her every afternoon to see how she was. She managed amazingly well on her own and very rarely talked about difficulties. When their 14-year-old dog Nibby got very sick, she called a cab and took him to the veterinarian by herself and returned home in another cab without him. While working in the yard one afternoon, my Mom’s finger got stuck in the metal part of the sprinkler system. She finally was able to pull that portion of the sprinkler into the house and call the police. By the time the police arrived and were able to cut it off her finger, her finger was very swollen and bruised. She refused further help and did not mention it to me until I was visiting and a neighbor told me.
After living alone in her home for 16 years, she decided It was getting to be too much for her to handle. She found a local continuing care community, put her house on the market, had a sale for the home furnishings and accomplished it all without a car. At 79 she moved into a two-bedroom apartment on the seventh floor at Imperial Plaza. My Mom was not an outgoing person, but she made every effort to adjust to her new surroundings. The property was surrounded by lovely grounds and areas where residents had gardens. She was so proud that she was able to walk the whole trail around the buildings every afternoon. She always took time to walk through the residents’ gardens. I never heard her complain about leaving her home, having to adjust to a whole new lifestyle in her eighties or having had to manage it all with no local help.
My Mom made the best of her new apartment and made a new friend Katharine from England who lived on the same floor. She was happy with how her furniture from home looked in its new location and proud of her new living space when my family and I visited. This was the first place she ever selected, decorated and furnished on her own and it really felt like home to her. As she neared ninety, she began having some medical issues and was no longer able to walk around the complex or keep up the apartment as well. She found a wonderful woman who came in on weekday mornings to make sure she was okay and fix breakfast. She dealt with pancreatitis and severe arthritis and the only time she ever complained was when she got a bad case of shingles.
At 91 Mom fell in her bathroom in the early morning hours but did not want to bother anyone so decided not to pull the call cord. She did not break anything, but this caused her to lose confidence. She became fearful to the point that she could no longer walk unassisted. She lived in a continuing care community which had three levels of care – independent, assisted and skilled nursing. At that time assisted living areas required that their residents be ambulatory when they moved in. She would never consider moving out of Richmond, Virginia where my dad was buried, so the only option was to move into their skilled nursing section.
I know the move from her own lovely apartment into her shared room was one of the most difficult things she had done. By then most of her friends were gone and she had no family left but me, and I lived in California. Luckily I worked for a large insurance company and our greatest perk was a generous vacation package so I was able to go in for 4 day weekends every 6-8 weeks. My son was in college on the East Coast and I remember how thrilled she was when he visited her on Thanksgiving one year.
My life, like most adult children, was very busy with my family, home and job. I do think I did the best I could but now realize how many lonely hours she must have spent. They had activities and entertainment for the residents, but Mom was in a wheelchair and did not often choose to participate. In the slightly more than 3 years she lived there, I cannot remember a time when she complained about the loneliness, the care or even the food, which is always the subject of complaints.
When I grew up, both my Mom’s and Dad’s families lived near their aging relatives and there was always someone who would provide care for them. Unfortunately this was not the case then or now. Since retiring I have volunteered as a Long Term Care Ombudsman and have seen the challenges many families face when having to make decisions about the care of their loved ones. There is frequently no ideal solution.
I have realized over the years how hard my Mom tried to make my life easy. I had to insist on doing things for her; she rarely asked. I know how difficult it was for her when we moved from the East Coast to Michigan and then even further away when we moved to California. She always wished us luck in our new home and never expressed any worries about our being so far away. She loved my children and me with all her heart. Even as she grew more fragile, the first thing she always asked about was how the kids were.
My intention with this post is simply to say, “Thank you, Mom.” As I age, I see how many challenges you faced along the road and recognize how much harder it was without family around for support. I will forever appreciate the efforts you always made to deal with them. Mom, please know that you reached the age of 94 without anyone ever being able to call you a sissy and with much appreciation and love from your daughter.