The past three weeks have posed many emotional challenges. The most recent and personal involved a search for the best assisted living situation for my mom. She is 99, in a wheel chair, and the 24-hour care she has received in her home for the past 18 months is prohibitively expensive. What to do?
I recently realized that letting her run out of money and going on state Medicaid was not an option. In that case, she could only choose among skilled nursing facilities with available "medicaid beds," but not among the many assisted living homes she can choose as a private-pay patient. I needed to find care for her before her savings was depleted and use her home as a rental toward her expenses.
I have spent the last month doing just that. I met with placement specialists who have shown me adult family homes in Seattle and equivalent homes in the Bay Area, where Mom has always lived. I selected one, and moved my mom there last week. All a very difficult process, my mom is grieving the loss of her home and familiar surroundings.
I am left wondering how else I could have solved a problem that my mom never anticipated, was not willing to contemplate herself before this, and is no longer able to decide for herself. I had no choice but to "woman up." I had to decide for her, and face the consequences, whatever they may be.
What does this have to do with cookies?
No way I could have baked a batch of cookies during this time. No, I didn't have a lot of free time. But more than this, I didn't feel like it. Cookies didn't fit the mood.
Cookies are whimsical, but I needed basic sustenance. Cookies are a special treat, but I needed emotional support. Cookies are the sugar and fluff, but I needed protein and vitamins. Cookies epitomize a light, carefree afternoon tea. My days were emotionally charged, made heavier by my mom's sadness at leaving her home.
I consoled and cajoled to cast the move, the only option, as an opportunity for more social stimulation, more exercise and time spent outdoors, but still carried the guilt of my mom's sadness. All the while, I couldn't imagine mixing a batch of cookies.
Cookies don't mix well with guilt, indecision, low energy levels, or sadness. I'll make cookies when the decisions are made, the move is over, and a faint hope emerges that Mom is settling into the next chapter of her life. I'll make cookies when life seems normal at home again. I'll make cookies when my mood lightens, when I regain some happy energy, when I feel more confident that this was the right choice.
I recently realized that letting her run out of money and going on state Medicaid was not an option. In that case, she could only choose among skilled nursing facilities with available "medicaid beds," but not among the many assisted living homes she can choose as a private-pay patient. I needed to find care for her before her savings was depleted and use her home as a rental toward her expenses.
I have spent the last month doing just that. I met with placement specialists who have shown me adult family homes in Seattle and equivalent homes in the Bay Area, where Mom has always lived. I selected one, and moved my mom there last week. All a very difficult process, my mom is grieving the loss of her home and familiar surroundings.
I am left wondering how else I could have solved a problem that my mom never anticipated, was not willing to contemplate herself before this, and is no longer able to decide for herself. I had no choice but to "woman up." I had to decide for her, and face the consequences, whatever they may be.
What does this have to do with cookies?
No way I could have baked a batch of cookies during this time. No, I didn't have a lot of free time. But more than this, I didn't feel like it. Cookies didn't fit the mood.
Cookies are whimsical, but I needed basic sustenance. Cookies are a special treat, but I needed emotional support. Cookies are the sugar and fluff, but I needed protein and vitamins. Cookies epitomize a light, carefree afternoon tea. My days were emotionally charged, made heavier by my mom's sadness at leaving her home.
I consoled and cajoled to cast the move, the only option, as an opportunity for more social stimulation, more exercise and time spent outdoors, but still carried the guilt of my mom's sadness. All the while, I couldn't imagine mixing a batch of cookies.
Cookies don't mix well with guilt, indecision, low energy levels, or sadness. I'll make cookies when the decisions are made, the move is over, and a faint hope emerges that Mom is settling into the next chapter of her life. I'll make cookies when life seems normal at home again. I'll make cookies when my mood lightens, when I regain some happy energy, when I feel more confident that this was the right choice.
We had to make similar decisions for both our dad and mom late in their lives. Your feelings and instincts ring true. Care and safety for your mom are primary. I think you have made the right decisions. P-patch Dorothy
ReplyDeleteThis is never an easy task, especially when the parent doesn't want to leave their home. New surroundings are scary and intimidating. Our neighbors - he's 95 and never, except when he was in the service, lived anywhere else but here, and she's 90 - just had to be moved into a care facility in another city by their kids. This move was difficult on all. I am hopeful that when I have to face this with my father, he'll be more accepting of why he has to move. You can only do your best with all the decision-making; there doesn't seem to be a "recipe" on how to proceed or what the outcome will be. I hope this all works out for your mother and you, and you feel more like having a cookie soon. Do take care. Claudia
ReplyDeleteThanks for your kind support. I am feeling better about the move.
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