Category Archives: Memories

I visited Mom at the nursing home during lunch today. The spacious dining room is bright and airy, and looks out on the bird-filled courtyard. Still, there is much sadness in the air. The residents vary in degrees of sickness, and the ones with mental issues are mixed in with the ones with physical issues. Today at Mom’s table, there was a man that appeared to be in his 60’s. He had white hair, and appeared to be quite tall, though he was hunched over in his wheelchair. He had on a t-shirt that said something about grandpas.

He had pushed himself a few feet away from the table, and was gnawing with great intensity on the piece of fried chicken served with lunch. The entire time we were at the table, he continued to eat that way, as if he were obsessed with it.

When Mom and I ventured out into the courtyard after lunch for some fresh air, Mom said the man reminded her of Dad. She ate with Dad a few times while he was in the nursing home. He had a great appetite, but would eat in a rushed manner, like the man my mom now dines with.

There’s a woman with dementia in Mom’s wing. She rolls herself up and down the hallways in a special walker that is connected on all sides, I guess to prevent falls. The confusion in her eyes is the same look I saw so many times in Dad’s eyes. Today she was looking for the bathroom. The nurse was a bit short with her (I’m sure it was probably the 50th time she had told the resident where the bathroom was that day). “Your bathroom is in your room. 107!”

The woman mumbled 107 as she took off down the hallway again. Mom was slowly rolling herself in the wheelchair back to her room. We encountered the wide-eyed woman again.

She looked at me, pleading. “Where is the bathroom?”

I repeated what the nurse had said just a minute before. She looked relieved and made it into the bathroom in her room. Later, as I was leaving, she was trying desperately to get into a locked room.

I hope Mom doesn’t have to live here permanently, but I know that it may be a valid option.

First of all, it’s my 200th post! Thanks to everyone who has followed the ups and downs of my strange journey this year, as I explore my father’s death and legacy and now my mom’s serious illness and brush with death.

Mom was finishing up lunch today when I came to visit her at the nursing home. She ate everything but the main dish, which was veal. That’s not something she ever ate at home, so I can’t blame her for skipping it. It seems that in the hospital and now in the nursing home, the menus are very meat-centric. I wonder when my generation (and the future generations) get old if the nursing homes and hospitals will be forced to serve up healthier food, vegetarian options, etc. I guess they are going for comfort food that will be appealing to the masses but all of it ends up looking like mystery meat to me.

It’s also sad to see so much food wasted at these places, when there’s obviously people starving all over the world.

Now Dad was quite different when he lived at the nursing home. Up until the last few months of his life, when he lost the ability to swallow, he would clear his plate every time. The nurses would joke about not being able to keep him filled up. I’m sure he would have wolfed down Mom’s veal cutlet!

There’s also another major difference between Mom and Dad. With Dad’s dementia, he withdrew more and more. He would be brought into the dining room to eat, but would do so alone at a table, not talking to anyone. Dad was a bit of a loner before the dementia but he had that Irish charm and could strike up a conversation with a stranger quite easily. I’ll never know if he suffered at mealtime, or if he was content in his own little world.

Mom, on the other hand, is a social butterfly. She’s already been adopted by the others into the “dining room family,” as Peggy, another resident explained. This nursing home “mafia” collects any salt and pepper packets not used and puts them in a community tin. So I guess I know where to go if I run out of salt and pepper!