I’m one of nearly an estimated one million baby boomers now nearing (or in) retirement who provides shelter and succor for an elderly parent. I’ve done a lot of things in my life, but nothing ever really prepared me for this job.
The realization that it wasn’t safe for my mother to live alone in the house I grew up in no-longer sleepy Azusa, CA was a gradual awakening. She made the decision to stop driving on her own. She was in her mid-eighties when she gave the car I had provided her to a nephew in Oregon.
And that was years after she broke her hip going out to the street to investigate which of her elderly neighbors down near the local rocket factory had summoned an ambulance.
So for years I commuted to Mom’s in Azusa from hundreds of miles away on a regular basis.
I never really resented the commute. It gave me time to think—especially if I was suck on I-5 amidst flatulent cows. But, mom’s increasing frailty convinced me I was time to move Mom and list my ancestral home with a realtor.
There really was no single event that brought my mom into my house. It was more like a series of small happenstances that led to my decision.
The most serious event was a drive by shooting at the house kitty corner from Mom’s. No one was hurt, but when I saw the 10 impact marks from .32 caliber buckshot in a neighbor’s garage door and on the bricks on the front of Mom’s house I knew it was time.
That was the start of the big countdown to Ma’s move here.
To make room for Mam, I added a large handicapped accessible room with an en-suite bath and made sure the plans included room for a counter top, basin and small refrigerator. What I thought would be an inexpensive addition soon soared past my estimates and left me with a white hot hatred of the remodel process.
In the fullness of time, the remodel was completed and mom moved.
Today I spend a great deal of time providing Mom with companionship, meals and in general running her around to the beauty shop, to doctors and other appointments.
My personal time for writing is a past dream from the era before Mom came down. To get away now requires serious logistics; I need to make arrangements to have one of my adult children or relatives come and stay, and go over Ma’s medicines with relief caregivers.
Spontaneity is a distant memory today. I don’t even fish much anymore. I miss that simple pastime a great deal.
Mom is 92 and recently fell in her room and cracked three ribs. So the last three weeks have been incredibly stressful here at Rancho Bizarro.
One of the most important lessons I’ve learned from the process of bringing my mother into my home has to do with health care; mine and hers. We are both Kaiser members and part of the decision tree I dealt with when I bought this house had to do with making sure I lived within my HMO’s coverage area. I have nothing but praise for the care Kaiser has provided my mother and I. And—following Mom’s cracking three ribs several weeks ago; I devote several hours a week to meeting her medical requirements
When I brought Mom down to my house, I had no idea how expensive and incredibly intrusive the process of caring for an elder parent would be. It was just something that needed to be done so I stepped up for my at-bat.
The amount of time it takes to care for an elderly parent is hard to score. So is the expense and frustration. But, I’m not alone, it’s something a lot of other baby boomers now facing retirement are experiencing.
Would I do anything differently? Probably not, although there are moments when I wish I had bought a house in my hometown of Azusa, or been able to stay in Colorado last year instead of being down here in rural San Diego—Jim Forbes on 09/05/2010.
Comments