by Kathy Brasby | Jul 25, 2014 | Seasons
Agnes leaned over the lunch table, her eyebrows bent together.
“My brother-in-law is living here but he won’t speak to me.”
I had joined her table at the nursing home and glanced over my shoulder. “Really? That’s too bad.”
She nodded. “I’ve spoken to him several times but he turns away. And do you know what else? He’s changed his name from Bob to James!”
I knew her brother-in-law lived 300 miles away and so I took a deep breath. “That’s frustrating for you, I’ll bet.”
“Well,” she settled back in her chair, “You just go on.” She studied me for a moment and then leaned forward again.
“And then there’s a woman who denies her own children.”
How did I answer this one? “Really? That’s awful.”
Agnes nodded. “I know. I asked her one day about her children and she claims she doesn’t have any children. She even told me she had never married. How could she forget her own husband?”
“I can see that upsets you.”
“I went up to June and asked her, ‘Do you know Melvin Roberts?’ and she said she’d never heard of him. He was her husband for 40 years. How about that?”
I knew June, too. She sat at another table in the dining room, waving at newcomers and chatting happily with others at her table. And I knew she’d never married and her last name wasn’t Roberts.
“Do you think you’ve confused June with someone else?” I asked.
“Oh,” Agnes studied my face. “I can see they’ve convinced you, too.”
Once I would have defended my position. Once I would have tried to change Agnes’ mind. But I knew she’d forget our conversation tomorrow no matter what I said. Kindness won out.
“Well, family is important to you, isn’t it?” I said.
Her face relaxed. “I’ll never forget my husband or children.”
She probably wouldn’t. But the brother-in-law was in trouble.
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by Kathy Brasby | Jul 18, 2014 | Seasons
My dad’s financial ideas were good as gold – and carried him well in his older years.
When I left home for college, he told me, “Have a savings account. Treat it like a bill and put money into it every month just like every other bill.”
I did. He was right. Whenever I needed a new tire or a root canal, I always had funds.
But the best financial legacy he left his family was his trust fund. He and Mom set up a simple revocable trust about 10 years before he passed away.
They changed their checking account, their deed to the farm, and their vehicle titles to the name of the trust.
When Dad died, there were plenty of difficulties but one we didn’t have was with his finances. The trust has provided for Mom since he passed – and without probate or any complications.
Some parents are slow to face their mortality so I’m glad my dad set things in place to make the transition a smooth one.
If you can’t convince your parents to make plans, do it for your children. They will rise up to bless you in yet another way.
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by Kathy Brasby | Jul 11, 2014 | Seasons
Myrtle’s eyes lit up when she saw me standing outside the door to her room at the nursing home.
“Are you here to visit me?” she asked, a smile sloped across her face.
I really wasn’t but the door to my mother’s room was closed and I was waiting. So why not?
“I can visit with you,” I said and stepped into her room. “I’m waiting for my mother.”
“Who is your mother?”
I pointed to the wall and told her my mother’s name. “She’s your neighbor.”
“Oh.” Myrtle drew out the word as she considered my information. “That’s nice.”
Her eyes told a different story: she didn’t remember my mother.
No big deal. I asked Myrtle about her hometown. About her family.
Her face lit up. She had three sons living about a half hour away. “They are so busy,” she said. “They come to see me on Saturdays. And I get to see my—“ She stopped, considering information. “I can’t remember if she’s my granddaughter or what.”
I thought I could help. “How old is she?”
“Eighteen months.”
“Probably your great-granddaughter then.”
Myrtle nodded. “She visits me sometimes. I love to see her.” She shifted her weight in her wheelchair. “My husband was here when he had Alzheimer’s. I took care of him as long as I could.”
“You are very loving,” I told her. “I see you smiling at everyone here. I see you talking to people at the table at mealtime. You are very kind. You still have purpose, you know. To love people.”
Her eyes teared up. “Oh,” she said, putting her hand to her mouth. “Oh. Thank you. I needed to hear that.”
“I’m glad to say it.”
Then she lifted her head. “Are you here to visit me?”
“I’m here to visit my mother.”
“Who is your mother?”
And we settled in for round two.
But I believe that Myrtle, who is very loving and smiles at anyone who crosses her path, stored those words somewhere inside. She may not remember but I think somehow she knows.
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by Kathy Brasby | May 16, 2014 | Seasons
Linda pushed her husband’s wheelchair to a slot right beside my mothers wheelchair.
“I don’t mean to interrupt. But could I ask you about your mother’s van?”
Linda wanted to take her husband to church. But transferring him into a car was impossible.
“We just moved here last month,” she explained. “When I almost dropped him at home of times, I knew I needed help. ”
We had encountered the same problem and had gone in search of a wheelchair van.
To buy and convert a full size van can cost in the $50,000 range. We hunted for used.
We found a heavy duty van with a wheelchair lift already installed. There more available with a rear end lift but I had wanted one that let Mom sit near the driver. That made the search harder but we finally found one.
Selling Mom’s car had almost covered the cost
I showed our van to Linda. There was a process to the lift. You had to push the left button in set sequences to open the sliding door and get the lift to unfold and lower to the ground. Push the wrong button and the process was reversed. We had to learn the sequence.
“I think I do that,” she said as I pushed buttons to activate the lift cycle.
“You can,” I assured her.
That is, after all, the nature of caretakers. We identify our loved one’s needs and learn to do what it takes.
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by Kathy Brasby | May 9, 2014 | Seasons
I sat at the table in the lobby just to wait until my mother was dressed and ready to leave her room.
But Doris clicked her tongue at me and grinned widely. “Sweetie,” she said. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” I said. “How are you?” It’s hard to know what to say to the residents of the nursing home.
“I’m all right. Could you tell me what day it is?”
“It’s Saturday. A beautiful day today. The storm has moved on and it’s lovely out there. Have you been outside today?”
She shook her head. “No. I don’t go outside.” She smiled at me again. “But I like robins. Tweetie, tweetie.”
Well, yes. What to say now?
“I like robins, too. When I see a robin, I know it’s spring.” Couldn’t I come up with better than this? I glanced at the clock on the wall. Mom wasn’t ready yet.
“Yes,” Doris nodded. “Tick tock.” She’d seen me look at the clock. “Hickory dickory dock, the mouse ran up the clock. The clock struck one, the mouse ran down.”
She winked at me then. “Hickory, dickory, dock.”
“Oh, I haven’t heard that song in a long time. I used to sing that with my kids.”
“Excuse me,” she said, “but could you tell me what day it is?”
“Saturday.” How did I talk to a resident? What could I say to brighten her day?
“Thank you.” She looked down the hallway. “Do you live here?”
“No.”
She nodded again and studied the hallway. A big smile crept across her face. “Could you tell me what day it is?”
“Saturday.” I heard the door to my mother’s room open and I got to my feet. “I’ll go now. I think my mother’s ready.”
Doris gave me another wide grin. “Thank you so much for visiting with me this morning. So special, sweetie.”
And that’s how you talk to residents at a nursing home. With patience, kindness, and presence.
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by Kathy Brasby | May 2, 2014 | Seasons
Rosalie pushed her fork into a chunk of chicken and raised it as a pointer. Or a weapon.
“I like it here,” she told me as she popped the chicken in her mouth. “I kept falling and I knew I needed help. So I checked myself in. I like it fine.”
She sliced more chicken.
“It’s not fair to my family,” she said. “I’ve always been single so I don’t have a husband or kids. My sister and brother don’t need to worry about me.”
She surveyed the nursing home dining room. “Some of these people don’t have a choice. Well, maybe I didn’t either. But I thought I needed to make these decisions while I could.”
I sipped the glass of water before me and waited. Rosalie liked company and the conversation seldom lagged.
“I bought my burial plot already,” she said, sliding her fork under the mound of mashed potatoes. “And I picked out the headstone, too. Those are all paid for. I didn’t want my family to worry about that stuff.”
I wondered if she’d planned her own funeral service.
“No, not really. That’s not a big deal to me. I won’t be there so I don’t care what they decide to do.” Rosalie dipped her spoon into the cup of pudding at side of her plate.
Rosalie might have been the only resident in the room without children but other residents had absent children for one reason or another.
Sometimes children lived in another state and visited when they could. Sometimes they lived across town and visited when they had to.
Either way, some residents weren’t so different from Rosalie. They might not have someone prepared to take care of after-death details.
But they should.
I’m not sure how to help that situation but I’m thinking about solutions. Suggestions?
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