Saving Takes on a Whole New Meaning

Saving seniors in the surrounding community is a goal for many of us who work with seniors.  In every city, there is a selection of elderly men and women who are alone and neglected.  They may be home bound, unable to shop for food, and often lack the basic necessities to keep them safe and healthy.   Often, it is a family member who lives out of state, or a state agency, or a civil servant such as a fireman or a policeman who alerts us that a person is living in a precarious situation.  In these cases, it is our goal to find a suitable way to assist or relocate any senior we feel is in jeopardy.

Recently, to reach out to those who may have shown an interest in our community, my associates and I have begun to make home visits.   Most often we drop by to find an older person who is lonely, but moderately happy, biding time vacillating between living at home and moving.  On rare occasions, we encounter someone who desperately needs to relocate, and we do our best to find an appropriate place for them to live.  Even if we need to recommend a community other than our own, we feel it is our duty to find a safe environment for seniors in need.

Eva was one such person. I met Eva through a concerned neighbor, Sylvia.  Sylvia, whose mother lived at our community, stopped by my office late one afternoon.  She was concerned about an older woman who lived across the street from her.   She described the women, Eva, as self-sufficient although somewhat reclusive.  According to Sylvia, Eva was known throughout the neighborhood as  “the collector.” 

Sylvia painted a visual picture for me of the outside of Eva’s home.  She described the carport.  It was filled with 20 or more plastic bottles; each containing various levels of a clear liquid, set side by side, outlining a path to the front door.  There was a collection of empty terra cotta flowerpots, chipped and broken, scattered among the bottles.  Also, there were faded and dented aluminum pie tins strewn throughout, while several half empty bags of cat litter leaned against the cement walls of the house.   The front porch, she said, appeared to be a buffet for stray cats that lived in the nearby woods. The steps were lined with various flavors of cat food in half-filled plastic dishes. 

Sylvia admitted she had never been on the inside because she was afraid to venture further than the doorway.   She was intimidated by the shadows of boxes, old paper bags, and unrecognizable stuff stacked from the floor to ceiling.  She was concerned that Eva might fall, as the pathways appeared narrow and cluttered. “I imagine the poor dear doesn’t eat well,” Sylvia lamented.  “I’ll bet the stove is hidden under piles of junk. ”

“Does she have family, I asked.”  Sylvia pressed her lips as if struggling to control her anger.  “There is a son,” she answered, “but I don’t see him there much.  I know she is a cantankerous ole soul, but I would think that he’d at least help her clean the place up.”

“Your friend Eva’s a hoarder.” I explained. “She’s compulsive, and she can’t help herself.  I doubt that her son can get her to part with any of her treasures.  Would you like me to look in on her one day next week?”

“Oh yes,” she sighed.

My assistant and I visited Eva the next week.  As soon as she opened the door, I knew we had begun our next “good Samaritan” project.  Sylvia was correct in her description of Eva’s home.   From the door I could see that the entire two-bedroom house was stuffed with useless articles – old newspapers, plastic grocery bags, magazines, and various antiques from a former life.  Eva welcomed us; she seemed genuinely happy to have visitors.  We cautiously stepped inside the messy foyer, but we did not continue further. After a short conversation, I sensed Eva’s loneliness, and guessed that she was hopelessly submerged in her world of “things” and feeling lost and helpless.

For weeks, I appeared uninvited on Eva’s doorstep, which was still cluttered with cat bowls, at least once every ten days.  Each time I brought a gift; home made cookies from our kitchen, lunch complete with salad and dessert, or a big cardboard box to fill with items for the trash.  I was patient but persistent, and eventually I was able to convince Eva to visit a near by independent living community. I accompanied her to ease her discomfort.   She met residents who were social and friendly, and she liked the casual and affable surroundings. Slowly, after returning for lunch on more than one occasion, Eva began to recognize the benefits of moving to a happier place.  In fact, within a month after her initial tour, she signed an agreement to move into one of their studio apartments. 

It took another three months before we were able to relocate Eva and one of her cats to her new apartment.  Her son was helpful, but to some degree his hands were tied.  Eva ignored every suggestion he made, and even became combative when he attempted to sort and disperse some of her belongings. Finally, I introduced him to a professional who specializes in moving seniors (See my earlier Blog -Moving Mountains May be Easier Jan 15, 2012).  I knew that an objective third party was the only answer.  Parents often become resentful when their children try, even with the best intentions, to tell them what to do.

The community where Eva rented her new apartment offered to share the moving expenses, enabling Eva’s son to hire the professional senior movers I had suggested.  They painfully and tediously sorted through Eva’s eccentric possessions.  Finally, after several long arduous days they successfully extracted her from her home with only the items she needed.  Once she was settled in her new apartment, Eva quickly forgot about the things she was hoarding. The movers were then able to get rid of the rest at Goodwill, a large storage unit, and of course, the community dumpster. 

I periodically received reports about Eva’s progress from the director of the Independent Community.  It was surprising how quickly Eva adjusted. According to the Director, Eva participated in activities and became one of their more active residents.  Of course, housekeeping monitored her room closely, and encouraged her to discard her worthless items before they became a nuisance. 

Sylvia, my resident’s daughter, returned to visit with me from time to time, to inquire how her old neighbor was faring.  I loved giving her the gold star reports.

In early November, I asked her “Did you know Eva was an artist?”

 “No,” she replied. 

“Well, apparently she has blossomed and revitalized her talents.  She just won a Christmas Card Design competition.  The Corporation that owns her community sponsored a contest. They chose the Christmas scene that Eva drew to send to their professional clients.”

 I grinned as Sylvia’s face broke into a smile.  I leaned across my desk to enjoy the moment with her.  “It feels good, doesn’t it, to realize that some days, it is actually possible to make a difference.”  

The Price of Guilt

Guilt is a powerful word for being such a short one. It is a word I hear almost every day either from an adult child, a spouse, or a resident.   

Guilt often seems to supersede all other emotions.  Despite the fact that adult children are juggling many things in their lives to satisfy a parent, the children still feel guilty because, in their minds, they are still not doing enough.  Many residents feel the same because they believe their children are doing too much to make them happy.  Of course, there is the other extreme; the parent who blames their children for “putting” them in a community and is therefore determined to make their children suffer for it.

I once had a resident whose son moved her in and out of every community in the city.  He was trying so hard to please her that he would relocate her each time she became dissatisfied with the community she was living in.  He had recently remarried, and his guilt stemmed from his inability to take care of his mother at home. He was a loving and faithful son; he was convinced that he was doing the right thing by moving his mom, Marion, at her whim. When Marion became dissatisfied, he dutifully packed her belongings, paid the extra entrance fee, and settled her into a new apartment in a neighboring community. This happened on average twice a year. It was inevitable that after a few years he ran out of nearby places to take her.

My community had been one of the stops on her list.  Marion was a cantankerous old lady who was never satisfied. She complained that she didn’t receive appropriate care, and she grumbled that the food was uneatable. She groused over the color of the carpet in her apartment, she threatened to sue if the care staff was not at her beck and call; she criticized anything and everything that came to mind.  It was not surprising that the staff soon became resentful. They avoided her when they could and despite their commitment to customer service, they had a hard time responding graciously to her nasty behavior.

I spent a lot of time with Marion, defusing the outbursts she had with our care aids and wait staff – hoping my patience and kindness would convince her that we had her best interest in mind.  I was somewhat successful, and she did eventually trust me.  But, I was unable to keep her from manipulating her son, and eventually she gave me her thirty- day notice.

I tried speaking to her son Kevin. He was extremely friendly, obviously intelligent, but it was impossible to penetrate his denial concerning her behavior.  I needed him to join our team and to work with us.  I beseeched him to stop responding to her constant whining and support us in our attempts to please her. My employees were dancing in circles hoping to win her affection, but he refused to admit that his mother’s e behavior was excessively unfair.  His guilt was so all pervasive that it clouded his decisions. 

Several months after Kevin moved his Mom, I heard through an associate that Marion had been sent to the hospital and would not return to the community where she was presently living.  Strangely enough, not sure what prompted me, I called Kevin.  “Marion can come back and live with us again,” I offered.  His silence betrayed his surprise, and after a few seconds he said, his voice somewhat choked “I will ask her.”

Despite the protests from my staff, Marion returned. Her new apartment was near my office, so I visited regularly.  We became close friends. She had softened somewhat, although her exterior remained hard and tough.  She even thanked me for taking her back.  “I didn’t think anyone liked me,” she admitted. “We didn’t,” I told her candidly.  “I just felt that, despite what you thought of us, we did a better job of caring for you than our competitors.  You are entitled to good care, despite your attitude. “

Soon after her return, her health declined. After only a few weeks, our nurse admitted her to Hospice.  She died in our community.

I had one last conversation with Kevin. He still harbored the guilt. He admitted how sorry he was that he had not stood up to his mom. He regretted that he succumbed to her constant nagging. He realized his willingness to move her so frequently made it impossible for her to make friends or become a member of an assisted living family.   “When I told Marion you wanted her back,” he admitted, “she cried.  She couldn’t believe that someone actually would tolerate her enough to invite her to return.” 

“Your Mom was tough,” I answered.  “She wanted you to prove your love for her by focusing on her and giving her your full attention. The only way she could do that was to manipulate your time and energy.  She coerced you to pack her things and move them again and again.  She knew how to push your buttons.”

“I didn’t know what else to do; I wanted to make her happy,” he said regretfully. 

“And did you?” I asked.

“No,” he said sadly.

Thoughts on Turning 95 

 written by Cliff from, Midland, Michigan

I am excited to share a story from my first contributing author. His name is Cliff. He lives in Midland, Michigan, in an Independent Retirement Community. He has lived in Midland all his life.  Now, at 95 after a long retirement and two very successful marriages, he is taking a writing class that is offered by his community.  His teacher, impressed with his skills,  encourages him to share his thoughts as he approaches his hundredth year.  His writing is clear and simple.  You will enjoy this short tale.

Getting into my thoughts at 95 one realizes I am well above average in age.  I think of Grandma Mapes, who was 96 at death, when no one in her family thought anyone would live that long.  She would say when told of 2 family member’s death that they shouldn’t have died.  It should be her turn.  I experience those same thoughts, and as my children are getting past 60 and having ailments, my concern is for their health.

For myself, I plan on making the best of every day given me.  I attend most events at Riverside (senior  living community), know about 60 percent of the residents by first name, and converse with many daily.  I remember a Mexican guide I was talking to.  I told him I liked Mexican people.  They are loving, happy people.  He remarked, “We like you to laugh with us, not at us.”  Now living with many elderly people some with flaky thinking, funny and with many ailments,  I practice what the Mexican guide said, “Laugh with us, not at us.” That I do with all I meet daily.

A problem I have is very poor hearing, and I miss much of what people say unless they face me and talk to me.  I don’t watch TV except sports where I can watch the action.  Otherwise they speak too fast for me to understand.  I tried the channel for the deaf where they print faster than I can read.  Same with the programs that are here, I miss much.  Anne who conducts the writing class has had to use a microphone; that has been a tremendous help.  It helps not only us who have hearing difficulties, but one member of the class is having throat problems and speaks very low.  He has a keen sense of subject and now can be heard by all.

I gave up my car, which I miss.  I had a couple of minor fender benders mostly caused by my trouble turning my head.  I did not want any of my children saying “Dad you need to quit driving.”   Some in here had that happen to them.  My children and some, who do things for me, are very nice about getting me places: shopping, church and meals out which I enjoy.  They also buy things I need when they shop.

Jenny who gets me started 5 days week gets me to doctor’s appointments and sees that I get there.  She goes into the office with me and talks with the doctor about my needs.  Jenny had nurse’s training and uses it very well.

I am very clumsy dropping objects on the floor.  I sometimes have difficulty picking them up.  Sometimes if the object is flat like paper, I have to go to the closet and find the grabber to retrieve them.  I bruise easily getting dark blue spots the size of a silver dollar and have no idea where or when they occurred.

There are some lapses in memory.  I have to do what enters my mind “right now” because a few minutes later it is gone from my mind unless I write it down.  I have to write future dates on the calendar.

 I like to be active, however I avoid things because of my poor hearing like the Super Bowl party. Last Year I tried the party, everyone was laughing and talking, and I could hear nothing.  I decided not to go this year.

I do not fear death.  I do fear suffering o get there.  I pray for a gentle death.  I do fear falling since breaking my right arm and shoulder ligaments in a fall.  I have good strength with my lower arm, I just raise my arm above shoulder height.  I exercise three times a week, and I do walk short distances, about ½ mile per day.  I have a good appetite, maybe too good.  I do have to watch my weight.  I came to Riverside 11 years ago and weighed 182 pounds.  This week I weighed 183 pounds.  Meals here are good.  We have only the noon meal.  I eat a light breakfast and cook my own evening meal.  I think this is  the right place for me at 95.

I do have a safe link apparatus and have to test in on the 10^th of the month.  They respond very fast and call me by name.  I don’t know how they do it. It only works in my room and within 1000 feet.  I get my monies worth every day I don’t use it.

I encourage seniors who wish to contribute their stories to write to me.  I also want to hear from adult children who are willing to talk about their experiences with seniors.  I am confident that if I can create a dialogue with my readers, that I will be able to reach more people to let them know they are not alone in the mysterious process of aging.  I want to make my blog a resource for those who want and need this information.

I Can Still Remember.....

After a discussion with an associate recently about one of her present residents, I couldn’t help but recall my first resident clinically diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. It is a sad, but happy story.

Alzheimer’s, in my opinion, is one of the most devastating disease processes I see in my resident population.  It literally destroys the memory piece by piece (I visualize it as being “Pak-Man” of the brain) leaving only dead ineffectual brain cells in its wake.  In the early stages, patients may be aware of their memory loss.  They become apprehensive and frightened at the capriciousness of what can and cannot be recalled.  As the symptoms escalate, unconscious of the changes taking place inside their brain, they fail to recognize spouses, children, or friends.   It is painful to watch the effects of the increasing dementia.  Adult children are often heartbroken when their mom or dad no longer remembers who they are or confuses them with someone else.  Everyone emotionally involved with a loved one with Alzheimer’s suffers a significant sense of loss.

 Ralph was a delightful soft-spoken, kind gentle man who doctors had diagnosed with Alzheimer’s almost a year ago.  He came to our community as a daily visitor because his wife, Laura, felt she could no longer endure the draining effect of the 24/7 supervision he needed.  During the week, she would bring him in the morning and pick him up after dinner in the evening.  She also hoped the social environment would help Ralph have a more meaningful life; more than just pacing back and forth in the same spot or wandering in and out of the lonely rooms in their house.

 At the time we had very few residents with a diagnosis of Alzheimer’s, so we were able to keep him safely within the general population rather than isolating him in the secured area that had been renovated for dementia care.  Ralph was a talker, and although it was difficult to understand the drift of his conversation, it was impossible not to be attracted to his cheerful disposition. He suffered many of the effects of Alzheimer’s without losing his charming personality.

Ralph was an engineer, and he had owned his own business designing machines for small independent companies.  His expertise as an engineer was so innate that he never quit working, and we encouraged him to continue with his trade.  Our staff would give him a small, soft fabric measuring tape, and supervise while he measured the furniture, the walls, the doors, the windows, and any and all objects he could reach.  He came to my office once a day, whistling with delight.   He took his measuring tape along the wall behind my desk. He pulled the end as far as it would stretch vertically, then horizontally.   When he finished, I would jot the numbers he gave me on a sticky note and hand the paper to him.  It became our private ritual.

Ralph soon had a girlfriend, Maggie.  She, like Ralph had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.  I marveled as I watched the two of them.  They frequently sat across from each other at a round table in the activities area.  They talked and laughed, their heads bobbing up and down in agreement. Occasionally they would reach across the table and touch hands like two teenagers.  Listening, I could not recognize or interpret a word or a phrase, but the conversation between the two was explicit to them.  They had been blessed with their own spiritual means of communication.

Laura, Ralph’s courageous wife, is the heroine of this story.  I never heard her complain.  As husband and wife, they must have been well matched.  Like Ralph, she was always friendly and surprisingly cheerful. I admired her spirit.  She was able to love her husband despite his changes, and she patiently accepted his need to be free to meet the challenges he faced without criticism or interference from her.

Although they had been married close to 50 years, she understood that the person she now cared for was not the Ralph that she married, but a new Ralph; one that did not recognize her as his wife, merely as a helpful friend.  Although her heart must have been suffering, she embraced each change in his personality and allowed herself to enjoy it.  “I’m just so happy he’s happy,” she would say.  “If he can’t join me, at least I can be grateful that he is content in his personal world.”  On Christmas Day, she came with a gift for Maggie, Ralph’s new friend.

I regret not keeping in touch with Laura.  She taught us all a lesson in kindness and generosity.

WHEN IS "NOT READY, TOO LATE?”

I often use the phrase “When is not ready too late?  I invented it after hearing “I’m not ready” from hundreds of seniors who were fearful of taking the vital step of relocating to a senior living community. Then once an unforeseen crisis occurs, it becomes ‘too late.’ The opportunity to salvage some well-deserved time in a safe environment, conducive to the peace and welfare of seniors, is lost.

Many in their middle to late 80’s will intuitively sense that they should not live alone, but they cannot emotionally separate themselves from their homes and cherished belongings. They prefer to sit at home, alone with no social interaction, and wait for intermittent visits from family or friends. Seniors are entitled to make their own choices, but sometimes, fear and distrust, prevent them making an objective choice. 

Susan and Sheryl were trying to convince their Mother, Ethel, to move to Florida for two years.  Ethel had lived in Washington DC for the past 10 years, but when she lost the gentlemen whose house she shared; they wanted her closer to them.  She often called them crying, depressed and lonely, but despite her unhappiness, she would not budge from her familiar surroundings.  Ethyl had a history of falling, which worried the two sisters, so they researched assisted living communities, hoping they could convince her to come to Florida. For months they agonized over what to do.

The crisis came when Ethel suffered an impacted colon and was rushed to the hospital.  She suffered from a lack of fiber and nutrition because she lost her interest in cooking.  As a result of improper eating, she became weak and malnourished.  Cheryl flew to Washington to be with her mom while Susan made the arrangements for Ethel to move into our community.  They were convinced that Ethel could no longer continue you to live so far away.

Ethel recovered from malnutrition slower than expected; Susan repeatedly postponed her Mom’s arrival date.  The doctor sent Ethel to a local rehabilitation facility to regain some strength.  For weeks, she participated in intense physical therapy, again delaying her arrival at our community. During her rehab, Susan and Cheryl took turns flying north preparing for Ethel to relocate as soon as she was physically able. 

Finally, after weeks of frustration, Susan called to say that Ethel had been cleared for travel. The doctor agreed with the two sisters that she would need assistance, and that Ethel was not physically able to live alone.  Despite their Mother’s vociferous protests, the girls continued to make plans to move Ethel to Florida.  Cheryl flew north to accompany her on her trip, while Susan made the final arrangements to move her into our community in South Florida.  Hoping to please her Mom, Susan chose a large studio with a view of the courtyard and decorated it with lovely new furnishings.

Everyone, except Ethel, was ready for the big day.  The nurses, the resident assistants, the marketing director; all of us were prepared to welcome Ethel upon her arrival.  It was not a secret that she was angry about being moved against her will, but the community staff was confident we could win her over and change her mind. 

Ethel arrived in time for lunch.  Exhausted from her trip, our nurse gave her a wheel chair to ease the stress of walking.  Our hostess chose a special table for her to eat with residents who would charm her.  In every sense, the meal progressed better than expected.  Ethel was tired after her trip, but began to relax after eating. She was surprised and honored when we gave her and everyone at her table cream filled cannoli for dessert.  Her daughter told us they were her favorite, so our Dining Services Director ordered them for the occasion.

After lunch, Susan and Cheryl took their Mom to her room to begin unpacking. She had two very large suitcases full of personal items, and the three were hanging clothes and putting them into the closet. About twenty minutes passed when Ethel complained of not feeling well.  Our nurse arrived immediately, and after a quick assessment, she called 911.

Ethel died shortly after her arrival at the hospital. Susan and Cheryl were devastated, and those of us in the community were deeply saddened.  We had anticipated that Ethel would eventually enjoy the time with her daughters who had spent months devotedly trying to make her happy.  It wasn’t meant to be.

There is no right or wrong decision when adult children struggle to do the right thing.  Our parents deserve the same opportunity to make choices that they allowed us when we were young.  Still, I always cringe when I hear the words, “I am not ready,” hoping that a decision will not be postponed until it is “too late.”

Prepare or Beware

This is a rewrite of an article that I wrote for a small trade journal in New Jersey in September 2002.  The information is still relevant:

The nightmare began when your mother fell and broke her hip.  She had a hip replacement, and later spent several weeks in a facility receiving intense physical therapy.  Then, during your final discharge conference the social worker delivers the “final blow”.  “Your mother can no longer live alone.  She will need some kind of daily assistance.”  The social worker continues. “If you return her to her home, you or someone will need to stay with her.”  You remind her that you work full time, often till late at night.  “There are professional services that can help, “she answers. “They range from companies who specialize in caring for seniors in their homes to the assisted living communities that are cropping up all over the country.” 

Now you begin to panic. You promised you Mom you would NEVER put her in a nursing home.  She receives only the minimum social security and there isn’t much in her savings.  Medicare is paying for her therapy at the rehab center, but that will stop in only a few days.  Once Medicaid stops paying, the social worker quoted you a private pay fee of $260 a day until you can make a decision.  You struggle to hold back your tears as you are hit by the enormity of the situation. She is your mother, and suddenly she needs your help. You have no idea what are you going to do?

This is not an isolated incident.  Day after day, as the director of an assisted living community in Florida, I hear similar stories from adult children and care takers.  Almost daily, I meet families who do not prepare for the unpredictable effects of  aging either to themselves, or as adult children, to their parents.  In 2002, over 16 million adults in this country were over the age of 75.  Statistics proved that 50 percent over the age of 75 had at least one disability, and almost 72 percent over the age of 80 had difficulty with daily living activities such as dressing, bathing, eating and walking.  These numbers are increasing rapidly. People are living longer and as they get older, the probability increases that during their lifetime they may have to accept some sort of assistance to live. 

It is impossible to discount the media coverage of nursing home neglect and the adverse care suffered by seniors.    Understandably, there is a fear of living where one is concerned about abuse or abandonment.  The best solution is for a senior or adult child to explore the options that exist while they are healthy and strong.  It is prudent to create a plan that covers the contingencies if one is no longer able to live independently.  What will happen if there is a loss of mobility or memory, deafness or even blindness?  Leaving these questions unanswered leads to frantic choices, family feuds and decisions clouded with emotion.

Getting families to broach the subject is easier said than done.  Dr. Michael McGee Ph.D. and Executive Director of the Center for Senior Stress in Tallahassee, Florida described the dilemma that exists between parent and child.  “The parent, afraid of worrying or burdening their children, avoids the discussion.  Aware that they are getting older, they have no information to assist them.  As parents, they fret about the financial obligations for them and their children, the loss of familiarity, and the fear of having to rely upon their offspring.  The adult child on the other hand, not wanting to infringe on their parent’s rights, also struggles with this emotional turmoil and lack of knowledge.  Unfortunately, they often fail to recognize the frailties in the ones who have raised and nurtured them.   Neither is prepared to face the ambiguity of the role exchange.”

Dr. McGee indentifies the signals to take actions, such as the onset of poor eyesight that prevents driving, loss of hearing or subtle confusion.  Who goes first?  Dr. McGee feels parent are waiting for their children.  He advises adult children to approach the subject first. 

“Open the lines of communication well before there is a crucial need with a big family meeting” urges Twyla Sketchley, an attorney who practices elder law in Florida.  She advocates addressing the legal issues early.  “Admission to the E.R. or the Intensive Care Unit is not the time to call for a durable power of attorney.”  Once the discussions begin she advises “attach yourself to a least one professional.  Whether it is a lawyer, a doctor or a psychologist, choose someone you trust to guide you when you need it.”  She discourages relying on Internet sites, for those are often ineffective, especially if applying for some form of government aid.”

  Ms. Toni Nelson, MSW, whose company Continuum Care counsels adult children and seniors emphasizes, “Let your family know that it is not bad or unusual to need assistance.  We are all interdependent in one way or another.”  Ms Nelson also recommends making a Plan A and a Plan B.  “Plan A, of course, is living at home healthy and happy with no assistance.”  Plan B is just in case that does not happen. 

When making Plan B. Ms. Nelson cautions, children should allow their parent the same freedom to make decisions that their parent gave them.  Therefore, the guts of the plan need to be acceptable to everyone.  She explains that Plan B is for “ years down the road,” and helps not only to understand a parent’s wishes, but also to give them time to digest it, visualize it and accept it in their mind.  “It will be a much easier step if you ever have to implement it.”

 One of the biggest fears is not having enough money.  Local senior centers, retirement communities and investment firms frequently hold seminars to outline some of the newer options.  Long term insurance and annuities are fast becoming popular, and many are available to older seniors who thought they had missed the opportunity.  Objectively, itemize the cost of living at home.  Often food, taxes insurance, maintenance and utilities will add up to a large portion of the cost of renting in a community.

Become familiar with the resources in your neighborhood.  Independent retirement communities and assisted living facilities are fast becoming popular.  Smaller areas may have private homes for seniors needing assistance, and private help, although expensive, may be more appropriate in some settings.  Don’t be afraid to visit, have lunch or attend a function at a community even if you never intend on using their services.  If nothing else, you will enjoy the free food, and if by chance you are forced to follow Plan B, there will be less fear of the unknown.

Many seniors are living in homes not customized for poor eyesight, stiff bodies crawling into bathtubs or unrestricted pathways for wobbly legs and bodies.  There are no pathways for assistance appliances such as walkers and wheelchairs.  It takes courage to face these situations early on, and to prepare for the unpredictable.  The families who plan ahead will lessen the likelihood of having to make rash decisions during an emotionally stressful time, and in turn assure their loved ones a better opportunity for a safer happier future.

Karen Pinney is the administrator of a large independent and assisted living community in Tallahassee, Florida.  She has been assisting senior in the health care industry for over 15 years.

Moving Mountains May be Easier

Helen was stubborn.  For over two years her son had encouraged her to move into an apartment or a retirement community, but she adamantly refused to follow his advise.   She was comfortable and content in the home she had maintained for over 20 years. She intended to stay there until she died.

It is an honorable ambition to want to live at home independently. Helen’s son did what he could to support her desire, despite his having to be on call in case she needed him. She could no longer drive, so she depended on her son to take her to the grocery store, the bank, or to her numerous doctor appointments.

As the years passed, keeping up the house became more stressful for Helen.  She complained that the household chores sapped her energy. She could no longer balance on a ladder to reach the top of the windows to wash them, nor could she push the vacuum cleaner without her arms and shoulders aching.  Her son did all the yard work, but he traveled out of town for his job. The grass and weeds grew fast in the summer, and Helen nagged him when the yard showed the sad signs of neglect.

Helen’s greatest pleasure was feeding the squirrels and the birds.  It was a daily ritual.  Every morning Redbirds and Robins, and an occasionally feisty Bluebird would gather outside her patio door seeking a handout. Helen would toss them seeds and bread crumbs, chatting contently as if they understood her.  

Helen never experienced a crisis or a fall, but one day, “out of the blue” she said to her son, “I’m ready to move.”  Astonished, but relieved, he took her to visit several communities and senior apartments.  It didn’t take long for her to decide, based on her income, which community was the most appropriate.

Once Helen signed the rental contract, she began to panic.  “How will I ever deal with all this stuff?” she wailed.  “I can’t sort, pack, and box the dishes or the pots and pans.  What will I do with the furniture?  It won’t all fit in the new apartment.  I’m not going,” she declared.   “Call the sales lady immediately and get my money back.”

Her son, a friend of mine, had already offered to help, but he was discouraged. He called me, and I could hear the frustration in his voice.  “She won’t listen to me, he complained.  “She needs to throw stuff away, and she won’t hear of it.  Everything I suggest ends up in an argument.  I don’t want to cancel the move; this is the best thing for her, but the way it’s going, I may not have a choice.”

“I have a perfect solution.” I said.  “You need to call Mrs. Beckworth.”  She does nothing but move seniors.  She will easily win your mother’s confidence because she is sincere and caring.  She will guide your mom through each phase of the move.  Eventually, she will pack what items she and your mom decide to take.  Then she will dispose of the things that are unnecessary, and finally she will schedule the truck and the movers.”

“How much will it cost?” he asked.

I avoided his question.  “Then,” I continued, “she will also execute the very last phase, and probably the most effective--that is the unpacking.  When your mom enters her new home for the first time, everything will be in place. The clothes will be folded neatly in the drawers, the pictures will be arranged on the walls, and the drapes will be perfectly hung.  You can’t beat it.”

Again he asked,  “How much will it cost?”  I knew that my friend had a “frugal” reputation, so I continued to avoid his question. “Mrs. Beckworth is busy everyday of the week.  If you expect to get your mom moved by the first, you will have to call her very soon.”

“How much will it cost?” he repeated.

“Every job is different.  In my opinion, she doesn’t charge nearly enough for all that she does.  She will quote you a price once she sees what how much your mom insists on moving. “ 

I hung up the phone and thought to myself.  There are senior movers in almost every city in the US.  There is a website, www.nasmm.org/ that lists the cities and the senior movers who service them.  Often, it is the logistics of organizing the huge task of the move that prevents a senior from relocating to a community.  Although they understand intuitively that they would be happier and safer in their new home, they are overwhelmed by the thoughts of sorting and packing the items they have collected for decades.  It is helpful for them to have an objective third party on hand to lighten the burden.

I didn’t hear from my friend until after the first of the month.  “Did your mom move?’ I asked.  “Yes. Thanks to you and Mrs. Beckworth. She is happy in her new place, and I feel so much better about her safety.  The people there have been very helpful.”

“Great,” I responded.  We chatted for a few minutes, and then as I started to say good-bye and hang up the phone, my friend interrupted, “Karen, thank you.” 

“For what?” I asked. 

“For sending me to Mrs. Beckworth. You were right.  The money I paid her was the best money I ever spent.” 

Coming from a man who squeezed every penny, it was all I could do not to say, “I told you so.”