by Kathy Brasby | Apr 26, 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 on 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.
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by Kathy Brasby | Apr 18, 2014 | Seasons
Chuck pushed the baked beans around his plate, stalling.
“Are you feeling all right?” Chuck’s mother reached across the table to press her palm against his forehead.
“I’m fine. Really. I’m 55 years old. I can tell if I have a fever.”
“I know, dear. Of course. Is something wrong?”
Chuck dropped his fork. “Here’s the thing. What do you want for your funeral?” He cringed. This was blunt even for him. “I mean, we should talk about– Well, have you thought–” He stopped himself before the hole got deeper. “It’s just something we should talk about. Sometime.”
He began shoveling the baked beans into his mouth before any more words flew out. What did they think? He didn’t look up.
His father spoke first. “I suppose a regular funeral. With a casket. Nothing fancy, of course. A funeral at the church and a burial at a cemetery. It’d be nice to have lunch for the family. I don’t want anything to be hard on Mom.”
Chuck looked up. His mother had leaned into the discussion. “That’s what I would like, too. Nothing fancy.”
Chuck swallowed hard. “I’ve learned some things since Mary’s dad died. Do you know what a casket costs?”
His dad shook his head.
“From $1500 up to $8000. The funeral home costs were about $5000. A plot at the cemetery was about $1000. And then there’s the headstone. Maybe a couple of thousand. Those are the simple ones.”
“Well.” His dad shook his head. “Things have certainly gotten expensive.” He looked up to the ceiling and Chuck knew he was calculating numbers although he could have been praying for insight.
“So you’re saying a simple funeral might be around $8000?”
Chuck nodded. “Have you thought about how to pay for that?”
“I have a life insurance policy that I thought would pay for burying me. It’s worth $5000. That isn’t enough.”
“Nope.” Chuck finished dinner. Mom’s baked beans were superb, like usual. “Do you have anything for Mom?”
“My policy is about $3000,” she said. “We didn’t know.”
What Chuck knew was that they had no savings and barely got by with monthly Social Security checks.
“I wonder if the VA could help,” Dad said. He had regular medical check ups through the Veterans Administration, a perk from his military service.
After many phone calls , Chuck’s father learned that being a veteran helped. Both he and his wife could be buried in a military cemetery with the cost of burial and headstone paid.
“That cuts funeral costs in half,“ Chuck’s dad said.
It was a start. Chuck knew there would be discussion with siblings. But it was a start.
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by Kathy Brasby | Apr 11, 2014 | Seasons
The first time Dad fell at home, Mom called the logical people: her two daughters.
We both arrived on the scene with plenty of concern and zero medical experience.
“Should we call the EMTs?” my sister asked.
“I hate to bother them just to get him into his bedroom,” I said.
“I know. We can do this.”
And so we did. She wrapped her arms around Dad’s chest, I got his knees and we carried – well, sort of dragged and carried – him from the bathroom where he’d fallen into his bedroom.
Dad was grateful while Mom was in a flurry of tucking him into bed.
It happened again the next day. Dad was in the bathroom and lacked the strength to pull himself up. He fell between the toilet and the tub.
We were called again.
This time, we decided he needed to go to a doctor. And so we carried and dragged him to the car and drove to the emergency room, since it was in the evening, and let the doctor check him out.
He was admitted overnight and then sent home.
The next day, he fell again. Same scenario: no strength, little balance.
“Let’s call the ambulance,” my sister said.
“Is it serious enough for an ambulance?”
“All I know is I’m tired from hauling him around. I think it’s time for an ambulance.”
We didn’t have to do the rock-paper-scissors thing to decide who called. She decided: “You call.”
So I did. “I’m really sorry to disturb you but my father has fallen and we could use some help getting him up. He might need to go to the hospital.”
“It’s not a problem.” The woman’s voice was kind and clear. “That’s what we’re here for.”
Within minutes, a police car pulled up at our house but the 911 operator had alerted us to that possibility. Then came the ambulance and two EMTs walked in with medical gear.
They checked Dad’s blood pressure and pulse. They listened to his heart. And when it was time to take him to the ambulance, they gently lifted him onto a stretcher, buckled him in, and rolled him out.
I learned a few things. First, when an elderly person falls, the ambulance crew does not see my call as a bother. Second, the EMTs know a lot more medical information than I do.
And, third, I’m pretty sure my Dad was glad not to get dragged – I mean carried, of course – out of the bathroom yet again.
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by Kathy Brasby | Apr 4, 2014 | Seasons
Howard stepped off the city bus, straightened his jacket, and limped into the nursing home.
“I used to do that job,”he told me, pointing his head at the bus. “Before I retired.”
He made his way into his new job. Howard’s home was an assisted living facility across town.
His wife, Mildred,had been transferred to the nursing home a few months ago.
Howard spent his days with Mildred. “I get my breakfast at the Oaks then take the bus here. The last bus runs back to the Oaks right after supper so I can eat lunch and dinner with Mildred before heading back. “
Later Howard sat with Mildred at a round of bocce balls, a game a little like shuffleboard but using only balls. He took his turn, aiming his ball at the target. “Turn left. More!” He directed his ball. “Aw, it doesn’t listen very well.”
Then he gently pressed Mildred’s ball into her gnarled hand. “Roll the ball. Knock that blue ball out of here. “
Mildred stared at the floor. After his third direction, she lifted her head and dropped the ball. It listed to the left and stopped.
“Pretty good,” Howard said. “Maybe our team will win.”
One day he arrived with matching hats for the two of them. Mildred wore hers all day without saying a word. In fact, she didn’t say much any day.
But Howard came every day.
“We both lost our spouses to cancer,” Howard told me one afternoon. “We’ve been married 15 years.”
Long enough to cleave for the rest of a lifetime.
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by Kathy Brasby | Mar 28, 2014 | Seasons
Fred knocked lightly on the door before leaning into the room. “Mama?”
Then he saw me sitting beside my mother’s bed. “Oh, excuse me. “
His mama and my mama were roommates in the nursing home. He had to walk through our space to get to his mother.
“You’re fine,” I assured him. I was reading a book while Mom slept.
Fred was tall with more salt than pepper in his hair. About my age. I’d already noticed that most of the visitors at the nursing home were about my age.
For most of us, our mamas -and a few papas- lived here. This is our time of life.
“She’s sleeping.” Fred could see his mother in her bed. “Maybe I’ll come back later.”
“Don’t worry about that.” The voice was my mother’s. She looked at Fred. “We can sleep anytime. She can’t see you anytime.”
Fred still hesitated. Mamas train us well. Who wants to awaken a napper? We learned that with younger siblings a millennium ago.
My mother glanced at me and then at Fred again. “She will be disappointed. I would be. She wants to see you. “
Even at our age, Mama still gives good advice. Fred nodded and then tiptoed into the room.
Maybe he tiptoed so that he didn’t wake his mother before he woke her.
“Mama?”
I could hear a slight rustle. And then “Ooooh. Fred. It is so good to see you. I am glad you came. How are you?”
“I’m good.” I could hear Fred drop into a chair.
Mamas still know best.
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by Kathy Brasby | Mar 21, 2014 | Seasons
“We want to train you in transfers. ”
That came from Mom’s physical therapist. Transfers?
Oh, yeah. If Mom was going to live at my house for a while, somebody would have to move her from bed to wheelchair to toilet. Her stroke had stolen her ability to stand alone.
In eldercare terminology, moving was called transferring.
“Her transfers have been kind of wonky,” the therapist said. “We’re still working with her. Can you come tomorrow and we’ll train you?”
Sure. I could do all things in the name of love. I could do this.
Planning was key to a transfer. I had to learn to think through the direction of the transfer. Where to park the wheelchair. Where to put my feet. How to protect my own back as I lifted Mom.
A gait belt helped. It was an adjustable fabric belt that provided me with a handle to grip.
But sometimes I had to grab the back of Mom’s pants to aid the lift. Sometimes a bottom boost helped.
Not things I wanted to do to my precious mother.
“Don’t worry,” she said. She patted my arm. “We can do this together.”
We did. The first transfer, completed before the experienced eye of a therapist, was awkward and embarrassing.
Often my sister joined us. We had a wordless system. One pulled the wheel chair out of the way, tore it down, stowed it in the trunk while the other transferred Mom and buckled her in the car.
The funniest transfer happened when I missed the seat and Mom settled onto the threshold of the car door. We faced each other, cheek to cheek, and both got the giggles which hindered the transfer a bit.
But Mom was right. Together we could do it. For that season of her recovery, we did it.
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