Tag Archives: nursing home

Visiting Dad’s place of death

After spending time with Mom for her birthday I ventured north to Albuquerque. I haven’t been back to Albuquerque since the last time I saw my dad alive. I held his hand for as long as I could before having to catch a plane back to Atlanta. Dad was moved to a skilled nursing facility shortly after that. He died a month later, also in Albuquerque.

Presbyterian Hospital, the last place I saw Dad alive.

Presbyterian Hospital, the last place I saw Dad alive.

So I had mixed emotions about returning to the city. Of course it was blazing hot but I felt welcomed by all of the people I came in contact with, from the hotel staff to cab drivers to restaurant servers. I also finally had the opportunity to see the place where Dad passed away. Fortunately, the place seems to be well-run, clean and has plenty of natural light. It has a nice activity room with birds and plants and an impressive rehabilitation center. Of course, a visit to a nursing home is always depressing to a certain extent and there was a lady with her head resting on her chin, completely oblivious to the puzzle in front of her in the activity room. There was such hope on some of the rehab patients’ faces. I hope they are able to become independent again, to walk again, to return home, whatever their goals may be.

The view from the nursing home.

The view from the nursing home.

I liked how the facility allows residents to eat whatever they want for meals, so if they want a grilled cheese for breakfast they can have it. With adequate nutrition being such a struggle for nursing home residents, this is a positive approach to take. Also, I was greeted by a visiting therapy dog as I entered the facility. Dolly the greyhound was so sweet and gentle, I’m sure she brightened the residents’ day. The area around the facility is mainly suburban and residential, so it seemed very quiet and peaceful, with a beautiful view of the mountains in the background. Butterflies and birds greeted me on my way out. Not such a bad place to die, I suppose.

The Crossroads Motel sign.

The Crossroads Motel sign.

Perhaps the most telling sign that my trip to Albuquerque was meant to be was my hotel room. It overlooked the Crossroads Motel sign. For fans of the television show, “Breaking Bad” this will be familiar. But for me it has a deeper meaning. I was greeted by that sign each day as I looked out my dad’s hospital window back in November 2011 while he was in CCU. I remember noting how appropriate the sign was, since Dad was himself at the crossroads between life and death. And now I feel like I’m at a crossroads as well. Future career, processing grief, developing a caregiving plan for my mom, there are so many things to consider. But for now, things are looking brighter. Maybe not as bright as that Albuquerque sky, but at least Mom’s oncologist just gave her great results and she continues to improve and remain independent.

It was a good trip. I feel like now I can appreciate Albuquerque for being more than where my father died.

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“No more hugs!”

Mom is getting a bit weary of being under the wing of a caregiver (me) and the home health care agency. She’s at that point where she’s feeling well enough to want her old life back, but she also knows that she has new limitations on her that prevent her from fully embracing her previous life.

Dad’s dementia created many limitations, both mentally and physically. But despite how he regressed partially into childhood, he still tried to maintain a sliver of independence. When Mom would go visit him at the nursing home, and she would try to hug him repeatedly when she was departing, Dad would pull away and loudly command, “No more hugs!”

At first it bothered Mom but then she interpreted it as Dad trying to hold on to a piece of himself. She relates the memory fondly now. Of course, little did she know that a year later she would be the one fighting to hold on to her independence.

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Preparing for a return home

Dad sadly never had a chance to return home. He went from the hospital to the nursing home and then back to the hospital before dying in a skilled nursing facility.

Mom’s ending should be different. I am preparing Mom’s condo for her return. I am a bit nervous about the homecoming and how she and I will manage living together. Of course I am still concerned
about her medical condition as well.

But I am thankful that she is well enough to return home, and that she wants to come back home.

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Dad losing the meaning of ‘home’

One thing that my mom still talks about almost every time I have a conversation with her is that in the last year of his life, when Dad was far from home, he never asked to leave the care center or hospital he was in and return home.

It’s not uncommon for Alzheimer’s patients to forget what and where home is, and to accept, at least outwardly, their current location. There are some with Alzheimer’s that do beg and plead their families to return home, and I think this puts an even heavier burden on the family. It was almost a relief to me that Dad accepted the care center that he was in without a fight, but it also made me realize how far the disease had progressed.

Dad was a homebody. Oh, he had his “hitting the bar after work” days when I was youung, but for the most part, he worked, came home and enjoyed the comforts of domestic life. He mainly read books and newspapers, watched TV news or documentaries or could be found on our patio taking a cigarette break. Simple pleasures but he was always easy to please.

I’m much the same way. I feel like I would be devastated if I had to give up my creature comforts from home and go live with a bunch of strangers. But Alzheimer’s tricks the mind into believing you are a stranger in your own home, an imposter in your own skin.

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Daddy’s little girl

I don’t remember my dad breaking out the suit and tie very often in my childhood. He was more the “business casual” kind of guy. He usually wore slacks, a dress shirt or sweater and sturdy black walking shoes. He never owned a pair of jeans or a pair of sneakers. That’s why it was such a shock to see him in the nursing home for the first time, wearing Scooby Doo pajama bottoms and canvas sneakers. The next time I visited he had on a pair of sweat pants. The nursing home staff dressed the residents in whatever was the most comfortable and easy to manage with all of the diaper changes they had to deal with. I understood the reasoning, but it was also another blow to my dad’s identity.

But in this photo, one of my all-time favorites, Dad and I are ready to hit the town. I’m guessing this was a holiday picture of some sort. I love the joy that is radiating from both of our faces in this photo. It’s just love, pure and simple, in its natural essence. Dad’s sporting a groovy 1970’s tie and I have to say, I’m looking pretty darn adorable.

In the NPR story on Alzheimer’s that features The Memories Project, I’m referred to as “daddy’s little girl” which I never thought would have applied to me. But as I’ve spent a lot of time lately thinking about Dad, discovering photos and recording the family stories from over the years, I cherish the close relationship that Dad and I had when I was a little girl. Of course, I was too young to appreciate it at the time, and sadly, as I got older, we drifted apart until the final few years of his life. But at least I have photos like this to remind me that I was indeed, “Daddy’s little girl.”

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