Mourning as parents grow feeble

This piece was originally published on September 9, 2006 in the News & Record.

Barring travel or special event, my husband and I spend our Saturday lunches in Thomasville where my mother-in-law, Caroline, is in her sixth month of assisted living. The path to moving her there began with pills left in every prescription bottle at the end of every month and was wracked with guilt, doubt and second-guessing.

It had been clear for some time that Caroline’s memory had been slipping. Like many in the early stages of dementia, she covered by writing copious notes and often assuring us that she was vigilant about keeping the stove off and the door locked.

Coupled with her convincing memory mask was the natural reluctance on her children’s part to believe that their mother, who had cooked for them, cared for them, and disciplined them, was no longer the best judge of her own safety and welfare. But even as they were able to recognize Caroline’s needs, they had to learn to walk the precarious line between treating her with the respect her age and experience demand, and guiding her with a firmness usually reserved for children.

Only when all these issues had been addressed, could they move to the question of where Caroline should live.

As a country, we have a strong ambivalence about eldercare in terms of the multi-generational homes versus professional care debate. Even while the aging Baby Boomer population fuels the skyrocketing eldercare industry, horror stories like the one the News & Record recently ran about Friendship Care Assisted Living confirms our worst nightmares about professional care: that overworked, underpaid, ultimately uncaring employees will mistreat our defenseless loved ones.

On the other hand, judging by the recurring headlines, caring for an elderly family member ranks with smoking in shortening lives. Which begs the question, how do the Japanese do it?

Sixty percent of Japanese elderly live in multi-generational homes as opposed to a mere 10% of American elderly. The difference is most often attributed to America’s obsession with youth and Japan’s respect for the wisdom that comes of a lifetime of experience.

But what is Caroline’s take?

“A couple needs their privacy,” she says in refusing to live with her children and their spouses.

Which is not to say that Caroline is enthusiastic about her new living arrangements. In these six months, she has come to like the staff, the other residents and the three effortless meals a day at the Oaks, a facility with homey feel and long-standing reputation for great care. Still, Caroline continues to long for her old apartment and decline our offers to bring decor like family photos.

As for us, it wasn’t until we finished the six-week task of sifting through what was left in her apartment - the baskets made by the father-in-law I never met, the hoarded magazines, and bag after bag of notes that unintentionally documented the loss of her memory as certain reminders appeared with increasing frequency - that my husband could start adjusting to his mother’s new home.

Admitting and accepting that, when it comes to your parent, the Golden Years aren’t always as pretty as the name implies is a grieving process in its own right: mourning the independent in your parent as it fades, and mourning, in advance, our own inevitable decline.

Perhaps the true difference between Japanese and American eldercare is that the Japanese accept that death is a part of life and Americans keep hoping that some magic bullet will reduce death to nothing but a bad memory.